THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


GIFT  OF 
FREDERIC  THOMAS  BLANCHARD 


SIR   HARRY 


BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR 

THE  HOUSE  OF  MERRILEES 

RICHARD   BALDOCK 

EXTON  MANOR 

THE  SQUIRE  S  DAUGHTER 

THE  ELDEST  SON 

THE  HONOUR  OP  THE  CLINTONS 

THE  GREATEST  OF  THESE 

THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANQETH 

WATERMEADS 

UPSIDONIA 

ABINGTON  ABBEY 

THE  GRAFTON8 

THE  CLINTONS,  AND   OTHERS 

SIB  HARRY 


SIR   HARRY 

A  Love  Story 


BY 


ARCHIBALD  MARSHALL 


NEW  YORK 

DODD,  MEAD  AND  COMPANY 
1919 


COPYRIGHT.  1919 
By  DODD,  MEAD  AND  COMPANY,  I»0. 


gfa  Cutnn  &  gobtn   Company 

BOOK      MANUFACTURERS 
RAHWAY  NEW     JERSEY 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  ROYD  CASTLE 1 

II.  LADY  BKENT 16 

III.  THE  CHILD 29 

IV.  FAIRIES 43 

V.  MRS.  BRENT 52 

VI.  REVOLT 68 

VII.  THE  LOG  CABIN 84 

VIII.  AUGUST 100 

IX.  ON  THE  MOOR 113 

X.  VIOLA 123 

XI.  THE  WOODLAND  POOL         .        .        .135 

XII.  AT  THE  THRESHOLD   .        .        .        .150 

XIII.  THE  TEMPLE 163 

XIV.  BASTIAN 168 

XV.  WlLBRAHAM 184 

XVI.  DILEMMA 199 

XVII.  THE  END 212 

XVIII.  AFTERWARDS 223 

XIX.  WlLBRAHAM   IN   LONDON       .           .            .  236 

XX.  WAITING 254 

XXI.  SIDNEY 261 

XXII.  THE  RETUEN       .  279 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XXIII.     CONFIDENCES 294 

XXIV.     HOLIDAY 303 

XXV.  MRS.  BRENT  KNOWS     ....  318 

XXVI.  LADY  BRENT  SPEAKS  ....  331 

XXVII.  LADY  BRENT  AND  VIOLA       .        .        .  345 

XXVIII.  IN  THE  BALANCE         ....  355 

XXIX.  LOVE     .       .  362 


SIR   HARRY 


CHAPTER   I 

BOYD    CASTLE 

THE  Reverend  David  Grant,  Vicar-elect  of  Royd,  was 
a  novelist  as  well  as  a  priest.  So  when  he  paid  his  pre- 
liminary visit  to  Royd  Castle,  and  sat  himself  down  to 
write  to  his  wife  about  it  he  did  so  with  the  idea  of 
making  his  letter  a  piece  of  literature;  or  at  least  of 
making  her  see.  For  that  was  literature — making 
people  see.  He  would  take  as  much  trouble  over  his 
letter  as  he  would  over  a  chapter  of  a  novel;  and  when 
she  had  read  it  she  would  have  a  clear  picture  in  her 
mind  of  the  place  she  was  coming  to  and  the  people  she 
would  meet  there.  She  had  not  been  able  to  come  her- 
self because  she  was  close  to  her  confinement.  Poor  girl ! 
It  was  rather  hard  luck  that  she  should  have  to  miss  all 
this  excitement.  They  had  been  married  thirteen  years 
and  had  always  looked  forward  to  settling  into  the  ideal 
country  parsonage.  But  either  he  would  have  to  settle 
in  himself,  or  else  wait  a  couple  of  months  or  so  until 
the  baby  was  born  and  Ethel  was  well  enough  to  take  a 
hand  in  the  blissful  arrangements.  Longing  to  get  to 
work  at  it  as  he  was,  with  money  saved  from  his  royalties 
to  be  spent  in  making  their  home  what  they  wanted  it 
to  be,  he  yet  thought  that  he  would  prefer  to  wait  until 
she  was  strong  again.  After  thirteen  years  of  married 

1 


2  SIR   HARRY 

life,  in  circumstances  not  of  the  easiest,  this  couple  still 
liked  doings  things  together. 

The  time  and  the  place  invited  to  literary  composi- 
tion. The  time  was  shortly  after  ten  o'clock  of  a  warm 
spring  night,  for  the  Castle  retired  early.  The  place 
was  a  room  which  David  Grant  had  sometimes  imagined 
for  himself  as  the  background  for  a  scene  in  a  novel, 
but  never  yet  had  the  satisfaction  of  occupying.  It 
was  a  great  state  Tudor  bedroom,  with  carved  and 
panelled  walls,  a  stone  fireplace  with  a  fire  of  logs  burn- 
ing in  it,  Flemish  tapestry  above,  a  polished  oak  floor 
with  old  carpets  in  front  of  the  hearth,  by  the  heavy 
pillared  canopied  bed  and  in  the  deep  embrasure  of  the 
window.  There  were  heavy  oak  chairs  and  tables  and 
presses.  The  washing  arrangements,  necessarily  more 
modern,  since  in  Tudor  days  they  washed  very  little, 
were  in  a  closet  apart.  The  writing-table  alone  showed 
modernity,  with  everything  on  it  in  the  way  of  appa- 
ratus that  could  please  a  person  who  loved  writing  for 
its  own  sake,  and  could  appreciate  its  accessories.  It 
stood  in  the  windowed  recess,  which  was  as  large  as  a 
fair-sized  room,  and  contained  another  table  for  books, 
with  a  cushioned  chair  by  its  side,  and  still  left  space 
for  moving  about  from  one  window  to  the  other.  Wax 
candles  in  heavy  silver  candle-sticks  stood  invitingly  on 
the  writing-table,  and  elsewhere  about  the  room.  There 
were  six  of  these  lit  when  David  Grant  came  up,  but  it 
was  so  large  that  the  effect  was  still  one  of  rich  dimness, 
warmed  into  life  by  the  glowing  fire  on  the  hearth. 

David  Grant's  soul  was  full  of  content  as  he  came 


ROYD    CASTLE  3 

into  the  room  and  shut  the  heavy  door  behind  him.  If 
he  couldn't  write  a  letter  in  this  atmosphere  that  would 
eventually  read  well  in  his  biography,  he  wasn't  worth 
his  salt.  He  was  not  without  occasional  qualms  as  to 
whether  he  actually  was  worth  his  salt  as  a  novelist,  but 
none  of  them  troubled  him  to-night.  He  was  wakeful 
and  alert;  he  had  half  a  mind  to  sit  down  at  that  in- 
viting silver-laden  table  and  write  a  chapter  of  "  A  Love 
Apart."  But  no.  Ethel,  poor  girl,  must  come  first.  He 
felt  tender  towards  her ;  they  were  going  to  be  so  happy 
together  at  Royd.  And,  after  all,  this  was  a  chapter  in 
the  story  of  their  own  lives,  and  more  interesting  to  both 
of  them  than  a  chapter  in  the  lives  of  fictitious  char- 
acters. 

He  took  off  his  coat  and  put  on  the  flannel  jacket  in 
which  he  was  accustomed  to  write.  Then  he  went  to 
the  windows  and  drew  back  all  the  heavy  curtains,  and 
opened  one  of  the  casements.  His  facile  emotions, 
always  ready  to  be  stirred  by  beauty,  and  to  turn  it 
immediately  into  words,  were  stirred  for  a  moment  into 
something  that  he  could  not  have  put  into  words  as  he 
stood  there,  though  they  came  to  him  the  moment  after- 
wards as  he  recognized  how  it  all  fitted  in  with  the  im- 
pression encouraged  in  his  mind  by  the  old  rich  room 
in  the  old  castle — the  moonlight  outside,  silvering  the 
fairy  glades  of  the  park  into  mysterious  beauty,  the 
silence  and  the  sweet  scents  of  the  slumbering  earth. 

The  grass  of  the  park  grew  right  up  to  the  stones  of 
the  castle  wall  on  this  side.  Just  above  him  were  some 
great  beeches,  which  seemed  to  be  climbing  the  hill  that 


4  SIR    HARRY 

rose  behind.  Below  there  were  more  trees,  and  between 
them  stretched  a  glade  which  led  the  eye  to  further 
undulations  of  moonlit  grass,  and  the  bare  trunks  and 
branches  of  the  trees  that  bordered  them.  He  had  been 
rather  disappointed,  in  coming  first  into  his  room,  to 
find  that  it  did  not  look  out  on  to  the  gardens ;  but 
under  the  moon  this  romantic  glimpse  of  silvered  trees 
and  fairy  glades  seemed  to  him  more  beautiful  than  any 
tamed  or  ordered  garden. 

Anything  might  happen  out  there,  on  such  a  night. 
Oberon  and  Titania  suggested  themselves  to  him ;  the 
least  that  could  be  expected  to  happen  was  that  a  herd 
of  deer  led  by  a  many-antlered  stag  should  wander 
across  a  moonlit  glade,  and  give  just  that  touch  of  life 
that  was  wanted  to  enhance  the  lovely  scene. 

What  actually  did  happen  was  that  his  eye  was 
caught  by  a  moving  figure  in  the  shadow  of  the  trees, 
and,  before  he  had  had  time  to  wonder,  or  even  to  be 
startled  by  it,  came  out  into  the  bright  stretch  of  grass 
in  front  of  his  window,  and  stood  looking  up  at  him. 

It  was  young  Sir  Harry,  owner  of  Royd  Castle  and  all 
the  magic  beauty  connected  with  it  that  was  making 
such  an  impression  upon  the  clerico-novelist's  suscep- 
tible mind,  but  though  in  that  fortunate  position  not 
yet  of  an  age  to  be  out  under  the  trees  of  his  park  at 
this  time  of  night.  At  nine  o'clock  he  had  said  good- 
night to  his  grandmother's  guest  downstairs.  Grant 
had  thought  it  full  early  for  a  boy  of  his  age  to  be  sent 
up  to  bed,  as  Lady  Brent  had  actually  sent  him,  though 
without  insistence,  and  with  no  protest  on  his  part.  He 


RO YD    CASTLE  5 

was  no  more  than  sixteen,  but  a  well-grown  boy,  in  the 
evening  garb  of  a  man ;  and  he  had  sat  opposite  to  his 
grandmother  at  the  head  of  the  table  and  taken  a  bright 
part  in  the  conversation,  so  that,  with  his  title  to  give 
him  still  further  dignity,  he  had  seemed  altogether  be- 
yond the  stage  of  being  sent  early  to  bed. 

However,  it  appeared  that  bed  had  not  been  the  aim 
of  his  departure,  after  all.  He  stood  looking  up  at  the 
window,  not  far  above  the  ground,  with  a  smile  upon  his 
handsome  young  face,  and  asked  his  grandmother's 
guest  not  to  give  him  away.  "  I  come  out  sometimes  like 
this,  when  everybody  is  asleep,"  he  said.  "  There's  no 
harm  in  it,  but  Granny  would  try  to  stop  me  if  she 
knew — lock  me  in,  perhaps."  He  laughed  freely.  "  So 
please  don't  tell  her,"  he  said,  and  melted  away  into  the 
shadows  without  waiting  for  a  promise  of  secrecy. 

Grant  rather  liked  that  in  him.  He  had  been  much 
attracted  by  young  Sir  Harry,  who  had  shown  himself 
charmingly  friendly  to  him  in  a  frank  and  boyish  way 
that  had  yet  seemed  to  contain  something  of  the  dignity 
of  a  grand  seigneur.  There  was  something  pleasing  in 
the  thought  of  this  handsome  boy,  master  of  the  old  rich 
beautiful  house,  even  if  he  was  as  yet  only  nominal 
master.  It  was  not  unpleasing  either  to  think  of  him 
roaming  about  his  lovely  demesne  under  the  moonlight 
which  made  it  still  more  fair.  Certainly  there  was  noth- 
ing wrong  in  it.  If  he  was  up  to  some  mischief,  it  would 
only  be  of  a  kind  that  the  women  who  held  him  in  check 
might  call  such.  He  was  too  young  and  too  frank  for 
the  sort  of  nocturnal  mischief  that  a  man  might  take 


6  SIR   HARRY 

notice  of.  At  his  age  a  sense  of  adventure  would  be 
satisfied  by  being  abroad  in  the  night  while  he  was 
thought  to  be  asleep.  David  Grant  smiled  to  himself  as 
he  shut  the  window.  He  would  like  to  make  friends  with 
this  charming  boy.  He  was  rather  pleased  to  have  this 
little  secret  in  common  with  him. 

Now  he  walked  about  the  great  room,  composing  the 
lines  of  his  letter,  as  he  was  accustomed  to  walk  about 
composing  the  lines  of  a  chapter  in  one  of  his  novels. 
Its  main  "  idea  "  was  to  be  the  pleasure  he  and  his  wife 
and  the  children  were  to  have  in  Royd  Vicarage.  But 
that  must  be  led  up  to.  He  must  begin  at  the  beginning, 
"  make  her  see  "  the  place,  and  the  people  among  whom 
they  would  lead  their  lives.  The  people  especially ;  there 
was  room  here  for  the  neat  little  touches  of  descrip- 
tion upon  which  he  prided  himself.  The  Vicarage  must 
come  last,  and  he  would  end  on  a  tender  note,  which 
would  please  the  dear  girl,  and  make  her  feel  that  she 
was  part  of  it  all,  as  indeed  she  was. 

And  now  he  was  ready  to  begin,  and  sat  down  at  the 
table,  all  on  fire  with  his  subject.  He  wrote  on  and  on 
until  late  into  the  night.  Sometimes  he  rose  to  put  an- 
other log  on  to  the  fire,  to  enjoy  the  crackle  it  made, 
and  to  sense  the  grateful  atmosphere  of  the  old  room. 
Once  or  twice  he  went  to  the  window  and  looked  out, 
never  failing  to  be  charmed  by  the  beauty  of  the  scene. 
At  these  times  he  thought  of  the  boy,  out  there  under 
the  moon  or  in  the  dim  shadows  of  the  trees,  and  won- 
dered what  he  was  doing,  and  if  he  would  come  and  call 
up  at  his  window  again  as  he  returned  from  his  wan- 


ROYD    CASTLE  7 

dering.  He  rather  hoped  that  he  might,  and  left  the 
casement  open  the  second  time  he  went  to  the  window. 
But  by  the  time  he  had  finished  his  letter  no  sound  had 
broken  the  stillness,  except  now  and  then  the  soft  hoot- 
ing of  owls,  and  with  a  last  look  at  the  moonlit  glades  he 
blew  out  the  candles  and  climbed  into  the  great  bed, 
very  well  satisfied  with  himself  and  with  life  in  general. 

"  Oh,  the  tiresome  old  dear,  he's  trying  to  be  lit- 
erary," said  Mrs.  Grant,  as  she  embarked  eagerly  upon 
the  voluminous  pages.  She  turned  them  over  until  she 
came  to  the  description  of  the  Vicarage  towards  the  end : 

"  Lady  Brent  said  very  kindly,  * 1  expect  you  would 
like  to  go  over  the  house  by  yourself,  Mr.  Grant.  Harry 
shall  go  with  you  and  show  you  the  cottage  where  the 
key  is  kept.  The  church,  I  believe,  is  open.  We  shall 
expect  you  back  to  tea  at  half-past  four,  and  if  you  have 
not  finished  you  can  go  back  again  afterwards.' 

"  This  was  just  what  I  wanted — to  moon  about  the 
house  which  is  to  be  our  happy  home,  dearest,  alone,  and 
to  build  castles  in  the  air  about  it.  So  we  started  off, 
the  boy  and  I.  We  went  down  the  avenue " 

"  H'm.     H'm."     Mrs.  Grant  skipped  a  page. 

"  It  was  the  Vicarage  of  our  dreams,  a  low  stone 
house,  facing  south,  embowered  in  massy  trees,  its  walls 
covered  with  creepers,  the  sun  glinting  on  its  small- 
paned  windows." 


8  SIR    HARRY 

Mrs.  Grant  skipped  a  little  more.  She  wanted  to 
know  the  number  of  rooms,  and  if  possible  the  size  of  the 
principal  ones,  what  the  kitchen  and  the  back  premises 
were  like,  whether  the  kitchen  garden  was  large  enough 
to  supply  the  house,  and  if  it  could  all  be  managed  by 
one  man,  who  would  also  look  after  the  pony,  and  per- 
haps clean  the  boots  and  knives. 

She  gained  a  hint  or  two  as  she  turned  over  the  pages 
quickly,  and  then  read  them  more  carefully.  "  Well, 
he  doesn't  tell  me  much,"  she  said,  "  but  I  expect  it  will 
be  all  right  and  I'm  sure  I  shall  love  it.  The  drawing- 
room  opening  into  the  garden  and  the  best  bedroom  with 
a  view  of  the  sea  in  the  distance  sound  jolly,  and  I'm 
glad  the  old  darling  will  have  a  nice  room  to  write  his 
nonsense  in.  If  he  is  pleased  with  his  surroundings  he 
always  does  more  work,  and  that  means  more  money. 
Oh,  I  do  hope  his  sales  will  go  up  and  we  shall  have 
enough  to  live  comfortably  on  there."  She  went  on  to 
the  end  of  the  letter,  which  gave  her  pleasure,  as  had 
been  intended.  "  Dear  old  thing,  he  does  lean  on  me," 
she  said.  "  And  well  he  may.  Well,  I  shall  bustle  about 
and  make  things  happy  and  comfortable  for  him  di- 
rectly I'm  strong  enough.  Oh,  my  little  love,  why  didn't 
you  put  off  your  arrival  for  a  few  months  longer?  But 
I  shall  adore  you  when  you  do  come,  and  it  will  be  lovely 
to  bring  you  up  in  that  beautiful  place.  Now  let's  see 
what  these  Brent  people  are  like,  if  he's  clever  enough 
to  give  me  any  idea  of  them." 

She  turned  back  to  the  beginning  of  the  letter,  and 
read  it  through  in  the  same  way  as  she  read  his  novels. 


RO YD    CASTLE  9 

She  knew  by  intuition  when  it  was  worth  while  to  read 
every  word,  and — well,  when  it  wasn't. 

"  Young  Sir  Harry  met  me  at  the  station.  He  is 
a  handsome  boy,  very  bright  and  friendly.  My  heart 
warmed  to  him,  and  especially  when  he  showed  a  lively 
interest  in  our  Jane  and  Pobbles.  I  told  him  that  Jane 
was  only  eleven  and  Pobbles  nine,  but  he  said  that  he 
wasn't  so  very  much  older  himself,  and  laughed  as  he 
said  it,  like  a  young  wood-god,  with  all  the  youth  of 
the  world  in  him.  I  remember  once  walking  in  an  olive 
wood  in  Italy,  and  suddenly  meeting  .  .  . 

"  I  was  rather  surprised  at  the  carriage  sent  to  meet 
us.  It  was  a  stately  affair,  but  with  the  varnish  dull 
and  cracked,  and  the  horses  fat  and  slow.  In  spite  of 
the  liveried  coachman  and  footman  on  the  box,  the 
equipage  was  not  what  one  might  have  expected  from 
such  a  house  as  Royd  Castle.  I  was  inclined  at  first  to 
think  that  it  meant  poverty,  which  is  not  always  unallied 
to  state ;  but  there  are  all  the  signs  of  very  ample  means 
in  this  house,  and  I  incline  now  to  the  opinion  that  in  a 
woman's  house,  as  Royd  Castle  is  at  present,  stable  ar- 
rangements are  not  much  bothered  about.  Lady  Brent 
goes  about  very  little.  In  fact  there  are  no  other  houses 
near  for  her  to  visit.  Poldaven  Castle,  I  am  told,  one 
of  the  seats  of  the  Marquis  of  Avalon,  lies  about  seven 
miles  off,  but  the  family  is  hardly  ever  there.  We  our- 
selves, my  dearest,  shall  be  very  much  to  ourselves  in 
this  out-of-the-way  corner  of  the  world.  We  shall  have 


10  SIRHARRY 

the  people  at  the  Castle,  and  our  own  more  humble 
parishioners,  and — ourselves.  But  how  happy  we  shall 
be!  The  beauty  of  our  surroundings  alone  would  give 
us  .  .  ." 

Mrs.  Grant  skimmed  lightly  over  a  description  of  the 
seven-mile  drive  from  the  little  town  by  the  sea,  through 
rocky  hilly  country,  bare  of  trees,  but  golden  with  gorse 
under  a  soft  April  sky  flecked  with  fleecy  clouds,  and 
accepted  without  enthusiasm  the  statement  that  all 
nature,  including  the  young  lambs  and  the  rabbits, 
seemed  to  be  laughing  with  glee.  She  was  anxious  to  get 
to  Royd,  which  was  to  be  her  home,  perhaps  for  the 
rest  of  her  life. 

Trees  had  made  their  appearance  in  the  landscape  by 
the  time  it  was  reached,  and  she  gained  an  impression  of 
a  kinder  richer  country  than  that  of  the  coast.  As  they 
neared  Royd  there  were  picturesque  stone-built  farm- 
houses, and  then  a  steep  village  street  lined  with  stone- 
roofed  cottages,  their  gardens  bright  with  coloured 
primroses,  daffodils,  ribes,  berberi,  aubretia  and  arabis, 
and  here  and  there  a  gay  splash  of  cydonia  japonica 
against  a  white-washed  wall.  Her  husband  was  always 
particular  about  the  names  of  plants.  No  mere  "  early 
spring  flowers  "  for  him !  His  descriptions  were  apt  to 
read  rather  like  a  nurseryman's  catalogue,  but  as  they 
both  of  them  knew  their  way  about  nurserymen's  cata- 
logues, she  gained  her  picture  of  spring- garden  colour 
and  was  pleased  with  it.  It  would  be  lovely  to  have 
a  real  big  garden  to  play  with,  instead  of  the  narrow 


ROYD    CASTLE  11 

oblong  behind  their  semi-detached  villa.  But  she  did 
want  to  get  to  Lady  Brent,  and  the  rest  of  the  house- 
hold at  the  Castle. 

The  old  church  was  at  one  end  of  the  village,  with  a 
squat  stone  spire  on  a  squat  tower.  Description  of  its 
interior  was  reserved  until  later.  The  Vicarage  was 
beyond  it,  round  the  corner.  The  principal  lodge  gates 
were  opposite, — handsome  iron  gates  between  heavy 
stone  pillars  surmounted  by  the  Brent  armorial  leopards, 
collared  and  chained.  A  little  Tudor  lodge  stood  on. 
either  side  of  the  gate-pillars,  and  a  high  stone  wall  ran 
off  on  either  side.  Young  Sir  Harry  had  told  him  that 
it  ran  right  round  the  park,  which  was  three  miles  in 
circumference. 

The  description  of  the  drive  broke  off  here  for  an  ac- 
count of  some  other  things  that  young  Sir  Harry  had 
told  him.  Expectation  was  to  be  maintained  a  little 
longer.  She  wanted  to  get  to  the  Castle,  but  did  not 
skip  this  part  because  it  was  rather  interesting. 

"  The  boy  has  never  been  to  school.  In  fact,  he  has 
never  slept  a  night  away  from  the  Castle  in  all  his 
sixteen  years.  He  has  a  tutor — a  Mr.  Wilbraham,  who 
seems  to  have  grounded  him  well  in  his  classics.  More  of 
him  anon.  The  boy  reads  poetry  too,  and  of  a  good 
kind.  Altogether  rather  a  remarkable  boy,  and  very 
good  to  look  upon,  with  his  crisp  fair  hair,  white  teeth 
and  friendly  open  look — a  worthy  head  of  the  old  family 
from  which  he  is  descended.  His  father  was  killed  in  the 
South  African  War,  before  Harry  was  born.  He  was 


12  SIRHARRY 

born  at  the  Castle  and  he  and  his  mother  have  lived  here 
ever  since.  So  much  I  learnt  as  we  drove  together,  and 
formed  some  picture  in  my  mind  of  the  people  I  was 
about  to  meet." 

Here  followed  the  mental  portraits  of  Lady  Brent, 
Mrs.  Brent  and  Mr.  Wilbraham,  but  as  they  bore  small 
likeness  to  the  originals,  as  afterwards  appeared,  they 
may  be  omitted. 


entered  by  the  lodge  gates,  and  drove  through 
the  beautiful  park,  I  should  say  for  the  best  part  of  a 
mile.  With  the  trees  not  yet  in  leaf,  and  the  great 
stretches  of  fern  showing  nothing  but  the  russet  of  last 
year's  fronds,  it  was  yet  very  beautiful.  Herds  of  fallow 
deer  were  feeding  quietly  on  the  green  lawns,  and  a  noble 
stag  lifted  his  head  to  look  at  us  as  we  drove  past,  but 
made  no  attempt  to  escape,  though  he  can  have  been 
distant  from  us  only  a  long  mashie  shot.  Wood-pigeons 
flew  from  tree-top  to  tree-top  across  the  glades.  I  heard 
the  tap-tap  of  a  woodpecker  as  we  began  to  mount  a 
rise  where  the  trees  grew  thicker,  and  the  harsh  screech 
of  a  jay,  of  which  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  garish  colour. 
There  was  a  sense  of  peace  and  seclusion  about  this 
beautiful  enclosed  space,  as  if  nothing  ugly  from  the 
world  outside  could  penetrate  behind  those  high  stone 
walls,  and  nature  here  rejoiced  in  freedom  and  beauty. 

"  The  hill  became  steeper,  and  the  horses  walked  up 
it  until  we  came  to  the  open  ground  at  the  top.  There 
at  last,  as  we  drew  out  from  under  the  trees,  I  saw  the 


RO YD    CASTLE  13 

ancient  mass  of  the  Castle  with  the  flag  flying  proudly 
above  it,  perhaps  a  quarter  of  a  mile  away.  The  ground 
sloped  down  towards  it.  There  was  a  wide  open  space 
of  grass  with  the  road  winding  through,  and  here  and 
there  a  noble  beech,  with  which  this  part  of  the  park  is 
chiefly  planted.  The  ground  rose  again  behind  the 
massive  pile,  and  was  once  more  thick  with  trees,  so  that 
it  appeared  backed  by  a  mass  of  delicate  purple,  which 
will  soon  take  on  that  delicious  delicate  green  of  young 
beech  leaves,  than  which  there  is  none  more  beautiful  in 
all  nature,  unless  it  be  the  emerald  green  of  waves  in  a 
blue  sea." 

"  I  shall  look  out  for  that  in  the  next  novel,"  said  Mrs, 
Grant,  at  this  point.  "  I  know  that  green,  but  he  has 
always  called  it  translucent  before." 

"  The  castle  is  low  and  spreading,  nowhere  more  than 
two  stories  in  height,  except  for  the  row  of  dormers  in 
the  roof,  and  in  the  middle  of  the  mass,  where  there  is 
a  great  gateway  leading  into  an  inner  court,  exactly 
like  the  gateway  of  a  college.  In  fact  the  building  re- 
sembles an  ancient  college  in  many  particulars.  The 
garden  is  enclosed  within  a  stone  wall,  which  continues 
the  front  of  the  building.  It  is  on  one  side  only,  and  is 
very  beautiful,  though  I  have  not  yet  explored  it,  and 
can  speak  only  of  a  lawn  bounded  by  an  arcading  of 
yew,  to  which  access  is  gained  from  the  long  drawing- 
room  where  I  was  received.  The  stables  are  in  an  inner 
courtyard  behind  the  first.  On  the  side  opposite  to  the 


14  SIRHARRY 

garden,  in  which  the  room  where  I  am  now  writing  is 
situated,  one  looks  out  straight  into  the  park. 

"  Young  Sir  Harry  took  me  straight  into  the  room 
where  the  ladies  of  the  house  were  sitting  at  their  needle- 
work. It  was  a  long  low  room,  beautifully  furnished 
with  what  I  should  judge  to  be  French  furniture  chiefly, 
but  with  deep  chintz-covered  easy  chairs  and  sofas  which 
took  away  from  any  formal  effect  it  might  otherwise 
have  had.  Lady  Brent  and  Mrs.  Brent  were  sitting  by 
one  of  the  windows,  of  which  there  are  a  line  opening  on 
to  a  sort  of  stone  built  veranda  facing  the  garden  that 
I  have  mentioned.  They  rose  at  once  to  meet  me.  Lady 
Brent,  whom  I  had  pictured  as  rather  a  dominating  old 
lady,  walking  possibly  with  a  stick,  I  was  surprised  to 
find  not  old  at  all  in  appearance.  She  must  have  mar- 
ried young,  and  her  son,  Harry's  father,  must  have  mar- 
ried young,  as  indeed  I  afterwards  found  to  have  been 
the  case.  Wilbraham  says  that  she  is  still  a  few  years 
short  of  sixty,  and  she  does  not  look  much  over  fifty. 
She  is  not  tall,  but  holds  herself  erect  and  moves  in  a 
stately  manner.  She  is  not  exactly  handsome,  but  her 
features  are  pleasant  to  the  eye,  and  she  has  an  agree- 
able smile.  She  made  me  welcome  in  a  few  words,  and 
I  felt  that  I  was  welcome,  and  immediately  at  home  with 
her. 

"  Of  Mrs.  Brent,  Sir  Harry's  mother,  it  is  more  dif- 
ficult to  speak.  In  the  light  of  what  I  afterwards  heard 
about  her,  whatever  surprised  me  on  my  first  introduc- 
tion to  her  is  explained ;  but  I  am  trying  to  give  you  my 
first  impressions.  She  is  good-looking,  but  it  struck 


ROYD    CASTLE  15 

me  at  once  in  rather  a  common  way.  She  would  be,  I 
suppose,  about  five  and  thirty.  She  was  quietly  dressed 
and  quiet-spoken ;  but  there  was  a  something.  She  did 
not  look  of  Lady  Brent's  class,  and  it  was  something  of 
a  surprise  to  me  to  see  in  her  the  mother  of  Sir  Harry, 
though  in  her  colouring  and  facial  conformation  she 
undoubtedly  resembled  him." 

At  this  point  Mrs.  Grant  was  aroused  by  the  sounds 
of  violent  quarrelling  in  the  little  garden  below  the 
window  at  which  she  was  sitting,  and  looked  out  to  see 
her  son  and  daughter  locked  in  a  close  but  hostile  em- 
brace. She  threw  up  the  window  and  called  to  them, 
but  they  took  no  notice,  and  she  had  to  go  down  to 
separate  them.  They  were  the  most  charming  chil- 
dren, and  inseparable  companions,  but  apt  to  express 
themselves  occasionally  in  these  desperate  struggles. 
When  peace  had  been  restored,  and  they  were  left  ami- 
cably planting  mustard  and  cress,  she  returned  to  her 
letter,  longing  to  know  more  about  Mrs.  Brent,  and  espe- 
cially the  reason  for  her  appearance  of  commonness. 


CHAPTER    II 

LADY    BRENT 

THE  explanation  came  after  a  description  of  luncheon  in 
the  great  hall,  which  had  greatly  impressed  the  writer, 
with  its  high  timbered  roof,  oriel  window,  and  carved 
gallery.  Mr.  Wilbraham,  the  tutor,  had  been  added  to 
the  company,  and  was  presented  as  a  middle-aged  figure, 
with  a  somewhat  discontented  expression  of  face,  but  a 
gift  of  ready  speech  which  made  the  meal  lively  and 
interesting.  He  and  the  two  ladies  seemed  to  be  on 
the  most  excellent  terms,  and  the  way  in  which  Lady 
Brent  deferred  to  the  tutor,  not  treating  him  in  the  least 
as  a  dependent,  but  as  a  valued  member  of  the  family 
circle,  had  struck  the  Vicar-elect  of  Royd  most  agree- 
ably. "  This  is  a  woman,"  he  wrote,  "  with  brains  above 
the  ordinary,  who  takes  pleasure  in  exercising  them. 
Though  living  a  retired  life,  far  from  the  centres  of 
human  intercourse,  she  takes  a  lively  interest  in  what  is 
going  on  in  the  world.  Politics  were  discussed  over  the 
luncheon-table,  and  I  found  her  views  coincided  remark- 
ably with  my  own,  and  together  we  gave,  I  think,  a  very 
good  account  of  ourselves  in  argument  with  Wilbraham, 
who  professes  to  be  something  of  a  Radical,  though  I 
noticed  that  he  ate  a  very  good  lunch,  and  is  evidently 
not  averse  to  sharing  in  the  good  things  of  the  class  he 
affects  to  deride.  It  was  all,  however,  very  good- 

16 


LADY    BRENT  17 

humoured,  and  when  the  talk  veered  round  to  books,  I 
found  that  these  good  people  knew  really  more  about 
the  latest  publications  than  I  did  myself.  Wilbraham 
is  a  great  reader.  He  acts  as  librarian,  as  well  as  tutor 
to  Harry,  and  seems  to  have  carte  blanche  to  order  any- 
thing down  from  London  that  he  likes.  I  imagine  that  he 
recommends  books  to  Lady  Brent,  and  she  reads  a  great 
deal  too — not  only  fiction,  but  biographies,  books  of  trav- 
el, and  even  stiff  works  on  such  subjects  as  Philosophy. 

"  Of  course  I  kept  very  quiet  about  my  own  humble 
productions,  as  I  have  never  professed  to  be  a  scholar, 
and  aim  rather  at  touching  the  universal  human  mind, 
with  stories  that  shall  entertain  but  never  degrade,  and 
should  not  expect  to  be  considered  very  highly,  or  per- 
haps even  have  been  heard  of  by  people  of  this  calibre, 
though  there  are  many  of  equal  intelligence  among  my 
readers.  I  must  confess,  however,  that  I  was  gratified 
when  Mrs.  Brent,  who  had  not  taken  much  part  in  the 
conversation,  said :  '  I  have  read  all  your  books,  Mr. 
Grant,  and  think  they  are  lovely.  So  touching!' 

"  This  is  the  sort  of  compliment  that  I  value.  It  is 
to  the  simple  mind  that  I  make  my  appeal,  and  Mrs. 
Brent  is  quite  evidently  of  a  lower  class  of  intelligence 
than  those  about  her.  I  think  I  detected  some  depreca- 
tion in  the  glance  that  she  threw  at  her  mother-in-law 
immediately  after  she  had  expressed  herself  with  this 
simple,  and  evidently  felt  enthusiasm.  Perhaps  her  opin- 
ions on  literary  subjects  are  not  considered  very  highly, 
but  Lady  Brent  would  be  far  too  well-bred  and  courteous 
to  snub  her.  She  s»id  at  once,  very  kindly :  '  The 


18 

Bishop  told  us  that  jou  were  a  novelist,  Mr.  Grant, 
Mr.  Wilbraham  was  about  to  send  for  your  books,  but 
we  found  that  my  daughter-in-law  had  them  already. 
I  have  not  had  time  more  than  to  dip  into  one  of  them, 
but  I  promise  myself  much  pleasure  from  them  when  I 
have  a  little  more  time.'  Wilbraham  saved  me  from 
the  necessity  of  finding  an  answer  by  breaking  in  at 
once: '  I  don't  intend  to  read  a  single  one  of  them,  either 
now  or  hereafter.  Let  that  be  plainly  understood/ 
Everybody  laughed  at  this,  and  it  was  said  in  such  a 
way  that  I  felt  no  offence.  This  man  is  evidently  some- 
thing of  a  character,  and  I  should  say  had  made  himself 
felt  in  this  household  of  women.  The  boy  likes  him  too. 
I  could  see  that  by  the  way  they  addressed  one  another. 
They  are  more  like  friends  than  master  and  pupil. 

"  Well,  I  felt  that  I  had  sized  up  Lady  Brent,  Wil- 
braham and  young  Harry  pretty  well  by  the  end  of  the 
meal,  and  the  conversation  that  went  with  it.  I  have  a 
knack  of  doing  so  with  people  I  meet,  and  find  that  upon 
closer  acquaintance  I  have  seldom  been  wrong  in  my 
first  impressions.  Mrs.  Brent  puzzled  me  a  little  more. 
Was  she  entirely  happy?  I  thought  not,  though  there 
was  nothing  very  definite  to  go  upon.  If  not,  it  could 
not  be  the  fault  of  any  of  the  three  other  members  of 
the  household.  She  evidently  adores  her  boy,  for  her 
face  lights  up  whenever  she  looks  at  him,  and  he  treats 
her  with  an  affection  and  consideration  that  are  very 
pleasant  to  see.  Lady  Brent  treats  her  in  much  the 
same  way,  and  is  evidently  a  woman  of  much  kindness 
of  heart,  for  Mrs.  Brent,  as  I  have  already  said,  is  not 


LADY    BRENT  19 

up  to  her  level,  and  living  in  constant  companionship 
with  her  might  be  expected  to  grate  a  little  on  the 
nerves  of  a  lady  of  her  sort.  Wilbraham  would  not  be 
likely  to  hide  any  contempt  that  he  might  feel  for  some 
one  of  less  intelligence  than  himself.  He  might  not  show 
it  openly  to  the  mother  of  his  pupil,  but  I  should  cer- 
tainly have  noticed  it  if  it  had  been  there.  But  he 
behaved  beautifully  to  her,  and  smiled  when  he  spoke  to 
her  as  if  he  really  liked  her,  and  found  pleasure  in  any- 
thing that  she  said.  And  she  seemed  grateful,  and 
smiled  at  him  in  return.  They  are  in  fact  a  very  happy 
little  party,  these  curiously  assorted  people  who  live  so 
much  to  themselves.  And  yet,  as  I  said  above,  the  one 
member  of  it  did  not  strike  me  as  being  entirely  happy, 
and  I  could  not  help  wondering  why. 

"  Wilbraham  enlightened  me,  as  we  smoked  together 
after  lunch,  walking  up  and  down  a  broad  garden  path 
under  the  April  sunshine.  *  What  do  you  think  of  Mrs. 
Brent?  '  he  asked  me,  with  a  side-long  whimsical  glance 
that  is  very  characteristic  of  the  man. 

"  I  was  a  little  put  out  by  the  suddenness  of  the 
question,  but  took  advantage  of  it  to  be  equally  direct 
and  to  ask  my  question.  '  Is  there  anything  to  make  her 
unhappy? ' 

"  He  laughed  at  that.  '  I  see  you  have  your  eyes 
open,'  he  said.  '  I  suppose  it's  the  novelist's  trick.  Any 
questions  to  ask  about  the  rest  of  us? ' 

"  '  You  haven't  answered  my  first  one  yet,'  I  replied, 
and  he  laughed  again,  and  said :  '  Did  you  ever  hear  of 
Lottie  Lansdowne?  ' 


20  SIRHARRY 

"  The  name  seemed  vaguely  familiar  to  me,  but  he 
said,  without  waiting  for  my  reply :  '  I  don't  suppose 
you  ever  did,  but  if  I  were  you  I  should  tell  Mrs.  Brent 
on  the  first  opportunity  that  when  you  were  young  and 
going  the  round  of  the  theatres  that  was  the  one  name 
in  the  bill  you  never  could  resist.' 

"  '  I  suppose  you  mean  that  Mrs.  Brent  was  once  on 
the  stage  and  that  was  her  name,'  I  said.  '  But  I  don't 
remember  her  all  the  same.' 

"  '  No,  I  don't  suppose  you  would,'  he  said  again. 
'  As  a  matter  of  fact  the  poor  little  thing  never  got  be- 
yond the  smallest  parts,  and  I  doubt  if  she  ever  would 
have  done.  But  Brent  fell  in  love  with  her,  and  married 
her,  and  since  then  she  has  never  had  a  chance  of  trying. 
That's  what's  the  matter  with  her,  and  I'm  afraid  it 
can't  be  helped.  She's  pretty,  isn't  she?  ' 

"  '  Yes,'  I  said,  as  he  seemed  to  expect  it  of  me,  but 
she  hadn't  struck  me  as  being  particularly  pretty, 
though  she  might  have  been  as  a  young  girl.  *  You 
mean  that  she  doesn't  like  the  quiet  life  down  here?  ' 

"  '  Yes,  that's  what  I  mean,'  he  said.  '  I'm  sorry  for 
the  poor  little  soul.  She's  like  a  child.  Vain,  I  dare 
say,  but  not  an  ounce  of  harm  in  her.  I'm  telling  you 
this  because  you'd  be  bound  to  find  it  out  for  yourself 
in  any  case.  She'll  probably  tell  you  about  her  early 
triumphs  herself  when  you  know  her  better.  The  thing 
to  do  is  to  keep  her  pleased  with  herself  as  much  as 
possible.  There's  not  much  to  amuse  her  here.  We 
never  see  anybody.  It  suits  me  all  right,  and  her  lady- 
ship ;  and  Harry  is  happy  enough  at  present,  with  what 


LADY    BRENT  21 

he  finds  to  do  outside,  and  what  he  has  to  do  in.  But 
she's  different.  There's  nothing  much  for  her.  She 

reads  a  lot  of  trashy  novels '     Here  he  broke  off 

suddenly  and  roared  with  laughter,  twisting  his  body 
about,  and  behaving  in  a  curious  uncontrolled  manner 
till  he'd  had  his  laugh  out.  Then  he  said :  '  I'm  not 
going  to  hide  from  you  that  I  have  tried  to  read  one  of 
yours,  and  my  opinion  is  that  it's  slush,  but  quite  harm- 
less slush,  which  perhaps  makes  it  worse.  However,  she 
likes  them ;  so  I  dare  say  you'll  find  something  in  com- 
mon with  her,  and  it  will  be  all  to  the  good  your  coming 
here.  That's  why  I've  told  you  about  her.  You'll  be 
able  to  help.' 

"  I  must  confess  to  some  slight  annoyance  at  having 
my  work  belittled  in  this  way.  However,  I  suppose  to  a 
man  of  this  sort  all  clean  healthy  sentiment  is  '  slush,' 
and  the  absence  of  unwholesome  interest  in  my  works 
would  not  commend  them  to  him,  though  I  am  thankful 
to  say  that  it  is  no  drawback  to  the  pleasure  that  the 
people  I  aim  at  take  in  them.  If  Mrs.  Brent  is  one  of 
these,  I  shall  hope  indeed  to  be  of  use  to  her,  and  I 
think  it  speaks  well  for  her,  when  her  early  life  is  taken 
into  consideration,  that  she  should  find  my  simple  tales 
of  quiet  natural  life  '  lovely,'  as  she  said  that  she  did. 
It  has  occurred  to  me  that  when  I  get  to  know  her 
better  I  may  possibly  gain  from  her  some  information 
upon  life  behind  the  scenes,  that  I  could  make  use  of 
in  my  work.  I  should  like  to  draw  the  picture  of  a 
pure  unsullied  girl,  going  through  the  life  of  the  theatre, 
unspotted  by  it,  and  raising  all  those  about  her,  while 


22  SIRHARRY 

she  herself  rises  to  the  top  of  her  profession,  and  mar- 
ries a  good  man,  perhaps  in  the  higher  ranks  of  society, 
thus  showing  that  virtue  is  virtue  everywhere  and  has  its 
reward,  and  doing  some  good  in  circles  that  I  have  not 
yet  touched.  However,  all  that  is  for  the  future.  Our 
immediate  duty — yours  and  mine,  dearest, — is  to  make 
friends  with  this  rather  pathetic  little  lady,  and  to  rec- 
oncile her  to  her  lot,  which  in  this  beautiful  place,  with 
all  the  love  and  kindness  she  receives  from  those  about 
her,  is  hardly  really  to  be  pitied. 

"  I  told  Wilbraham  that  I  had  been  much  struck  with 
Lady  Brent's  attitude  towards  her,  and  he  became  seri- 
ous at  once  and  said :  *  Lady  Brent  is  a  fine  character. 
There's  no  getting  over  that.  No,  there's  no  getting 
over  that ;  she's  a  fine  character.' 

"  I  was  a  little  surprised  at  the  way  he  said  it,  but 
he's  a  queer  sort  of  fellow,  though  I  think  likable.  He 
went  on  at  once,  as  if  he  wanted  to  remove  some  doubt 
in  my  mind  as  to  Lady  Brent ;  but,  as  a  matter  of  fact, 
I  had  none,  and  am  as  capable  of  judging  her  as  he  is, 
though  of  course  he  has  known  her  longer.  '  She  sees,' 
he  said,  '  that  poor  little  Lottie — I  generally  call  her 
that  to  myself — can't  be  quite  happy  shut  up  down  here. 
But  she's  right  in  keeping  her  here.  You  see,  Brent  was 
rather  a  wild  sort  of  fellow.  He  got  into  mischief  once 
or  twice,  and  from  what  I've  heard  she  and  his  father 
weren't  sorry  when  his  regiment  was  ordered  off  to  South 
Africa.  Well,  he  went,  and  was  killed  the  first  time  he 
went  into  action,  within  a  month.  By  the  time  the  news 
came  over  his  father  himself  was  dying,  and  did  die,  as 


LADY    BRENT  23 

a  matter  of  fact,  without  knowing  of  it.  A  pretty  good 
shock  for  the  poor  lady,  eh?  Well,  she  had  another 
when  poor  little  Lottie  wrote  to  her  and  said  that  she 
had  been  married  to  Brent  the  week  before  he  sailed,  and 
there  was  a  baby  coming.  She  went  straight  up  to 
London  and  brought  her  down  here,  and  Harry  was  born 
here.  Harry  is  rather  an  important  person,  you  know. 
He's  the  last  of  his  line,  which  is  an  old  one.  This  place 
belongs  to  him,  and  he'll  have  a  great  deal  of  money 
from  his  grandmother.  He's  Sir  Harry  Brent  of  Royd 
Castle.  What  he  is  on  his  mother's  side  must  be  made  as 
little  of  as  possible.  She's  a  Brent  by  marriage  and  she 
has  to  learn  to  be  a  Brent  by  manners  and  customs,  if 
you  understand  me ! ' 

"  I  said  that  I  thought  I  did,  and  that  Lady  Brent 
was  quite  right  in  wishing  to  keep  her  in  this  atmos- 
phere. But  I  said  that  I  quite  saw  that  the  more 
friends  she  had  the  better.  I  should  do  my  best  to  make 
friends  with  her,  and  I  was  sure  that  my  wife  would, 
who  was  extremely  kind-hearted. 

"  '  Ah,  that's  right,'  he  said,  with  a  great  air  of 
satisfaction,  and  just  then  Harry  came  out  and  we  went 
off  together  to  the  village  and  the  vicarage." 

Here  followed  the  account  of  the  Vicarage,  and  of  the 
church,  but  Mrs.  Grant  knew  there  was  more  to  come 
later  about  Mrs.  Brent,  and  hurried  on  till  she  got  to  it. 

Dinner  in  the  great  hall  was  described,  with  allusions 
to  the  perfection  of  the  service  and  the  livery  of  the 
servants.  The  conversation  was  much  the  same  as  over 


24  SIRHARRY 

the  luncheon  table,  and  Mrs.  Brent  took  more  part  in  it. 
There  was  something  different  about  her  air.  She  was 
beautifully  dressed  and  her  "  commonness  "  seemed  to 
have  dropped  from  her.  She  was,  indeed,  rather  stately, 
in  the  manner  of  her  mother-in-law,  whom  it  struck 
Grant  that  she  was  anxious  to  copy.  After  dinner  they 
sat  in  the  long  drawing-room,  and  Wilbraham  played 
the  piano,  which  he  did  rather  well.  Soon  after  Harry 
had  gone  to  bed,  Lady  Brent  went  out  of  the  room  to 
get  some  silks  for  her  embroidery.  Mrs.  Brent  had 
offered  to  get  these  for  her,  but  she  wouldn't  let  her. 
Grant  was  sitting  near  to  Mrs.  Brent,  and  while  Wil- 
braham played  softly  at  the  other  end  of  the  room  he 
talked  to  her. 

"  I  said  with  a  smile :  *  I  think  your  name  used  to  be 
very  well  known  in  other  scenes  than  this  when  I  was 
a  young  man,  Mrs.  Brent.' 

"  My  dear,  I  was  never  more  surprised  than  by  the 
way  she  took  it.  She  flushed  and  drew  up  her  head  and 
looked  at  me  straight,  and  said :  '  Pray  what  do  you 
mean  by  that,  Mr.  Grant  ?  ' 

"  I  felt  like  a  fool.  Of  course  if  Wilbraham  hadn't 
said  what  he  had  I  should  never  have  thought  of  ad- 
dressing her  upon  the  subject.  Being  what  she  is  now 
I  should  have  expected  that  she  would  not  have  wanted 
her  origin  alluded  to.  But  I  have  told  you  exactly  what 
he  did  say,  and  certainly  I  never  meant  anything  but 
kindness  to  her.  Still,  I  saw  that  she  might  think  I 
was  simply  taking  a  liberty,  and  made  what  recovery  I 


LADY    BRENT  25 

could.  *  I  know  that  you  were  a  great  ornament  of  the 
stage  before  you  were  married,'  I  said.  '  Please  forgive 
me  if  I  ought  not  to  have  alluded  to  it,  but  you  said 
that  you  had  read  my  books,  and  you  will  know  that  I 
take  all  life  for  my  province ;  and  when  one  practises 
one  art  with  all  earnestness  and  sincerity,  it  is  inter- 
esting to  talk  to  some  one  who  has  made  a  great  success 
with  another.' 

"  I  think  this  was  well  said,  wasn't  it,  dear?  I'm 
afraid  it  was  going  rather  beyond  the  truth,  as,  from 
what  Wilbraham  had  told  me,  I  doubt  if  she  was  much 
more  than  a  chorus  girl,  and  that  only  for  a  very  short 
time.  But  my  conscience  doesn't  prick  me  for  having 
drawn  the  long  bow  a  little.  I  had  to  disabuse  her  mind 
of  the  idea  that  I  was  taking  a  liberty  with  her,  and  I 
wanted  to  please  her  in  the  way  that  Wilbraham  had 
indicated. 

"  She  ceased,  I  think,  to  take  offence,  but  she  said^ 
rather  primly,  with  her  eyes  on  her  needlework,  which 
she  had  taken  up  again :  '  I  prefer  to  forget  that  I  was 
ever  on  the  stage,  Mr.  Grant.  It  was  for  a  very  short 
time,  and  I  simply  went  to  and  from  my  home  to  the 
theatre,  always  attended  by  a  maid — or  nearly  always, 
and  sometimes  by  my  mother.  When  I  married  I  left 
the  stage  altogether,  and  have  never  been  in  a  theatre 
since.  I  don't  know  how  you  knew  that  I  had  ever 
belonged  to  it.' 

"  She  gave  me  a  quick  little  glance,  and  I  divined 
somehow  that  it  would  give  her  pleasure  to  believe  that 
she  was  remembered.  I  won't  tell  you  what  I  said,  but 


26  SIRHARRY 

while  I  steered  clear  of  an  actual  untruth,  I  did  manage 
to  convey  the  impression  that  T  had  recognized  her,  and 
I  hope  I  may  be  forgiven  for  it.  She  said  hurriedly: 
*  Well,  we  won't  talk  about  it  any  more,  for  I  have 
nearly  forgotten  it  all,  and  wish  to  forget  it  altogether. 
And  please  don't  tell  Lady  Brent  that  you  know  who  I 
was.  We  don't  want  Harry  to  know  it  at  all — ever. 
She's  quite  right  there.  Here  she  comes.  You  do  like 
Harry,  don't  you,  Mr.  Grant?  He's  such  a  dear  boy. 
and  all  the  people  about  here  love  him.' 

"  *  What,  talking  about  Harry?'  said  Lady  Brent, 
as  she  joined  us.  'We  all  talk  a  great  deal  about 
Harry,  Mr.  Grant.  I  don't  think  there  is  a  boy  in  the 
world  on  whom  greater  hopes  are  set.  We  have  made 
him  happy  between  us  so  far,  but  I  am  glad  you  are 
coming  here  with  your  young  people,  to  bring  a  little 
more  life  into  this  quiet  place.  Young  people  want 
young  life  about  them.  It  is  the  only  thing  that  has 
been  lacking  for  him.  And  it  is  all  too  short  a  time 
before  he  will  have  to  go  out  into  the  world.' 

"  This  all  gave  me  a  great  deal  to  think  about.  I 
hope  I  have  given  you  such  an  account  of  everything 
that  passed,  and  the  important  parts  of  what  was  said 
to  make  you  see  it  as  I  do.  Consider  this  kind  good 
lady,  gifted  more  than  most,  rich,  titled,  intellectual, 
calculated  to  shine  in  society,  yet  content  to  live  a  quiet 
life  out  of  the  world  for  the  sake  of  the  bright  boy 
upon  whom  so  many  hopes  depend.  She  has  gone 
through  much  trouble,  with  her  only  son  and  her  husband 
reft  from  her  within  a  few  weeks  of  one  another.  She 
cannot  have  welcomed  the  wife  whom  her  son  had  chosen, 


LADY    BRENT  27 

but  she  lives  in  constant  companionship  with  her,  and 
treats  her  with  every  consideration.  My  heart  warms 
towards  her.  We  are  indeed  fortunate  in  having  such  a 
chatelaine  as  Lady  Brent  in  the  place  in  which  we  are  to 
spend  our  lives  and  do  our  work.  Of  her  kindness  and 
thought  fulness  towards  myself  I  have  not  time  to  write, 
as  it  is  getting  very  late,  and  I  must  to  bed.  But 
when  you  come  here  you  will  find  her  everything  that  you 
can  wish,  and  I  shall  be  surprised  if  you  do  not  make  a 
real  friend  of  her,  a  friend  who  will  last,  and  on  whom 
you  can  in  all  things  depend." 

When  Mrs.  Grant  had  at  last  finished  this  voluminous 
letter,  she  summoned  Miss  Minster  to  her,  and  read  her 
many  passages  from  it.  Miss  Minster  was  the  lady  who 
looked  after  the  education  of  Jane  and  Pebbles,  and  had 
somewhat  of  a  hard  task  in  doing  so,  though  she  ful- 
filled it  without  showing  outward  signs  of  stress.  She 
was  of  about  the  same  age  as  Mrs.  Grant — that  is  in 
the  early  thirties,  and  they  had  been  friends  together  at 
school.  They  were  friends  now,  and  Mrs.  Grant  trusted 
Miss  Minster's  judgment  in  some  things  more  even  than 
she  trusted  her  husband's. 

"  Somehow,  I  don't  see  Lady  Brent,"  said  Mrs.  Grant, 
when  she  had  read  out  all  that  had  been  written  about 
her.  "  She  seems  to  have  made  a  great  impression  upon 
David,  but  it  looks  to  me  as  if  it  was  the  impression  she 
wanted  to  make." 

"  If  any  other  man  but  David  had  written  all  that," 
said  Miss  Minster,  "  I  should  have  said  that  there  was 
something  behind  it  all.  I  should  have  said  that  Lady 


28  SIRHARRY 

Brent  had  some  dark  reason  for  keeping  herself  and  the 
rest  of  them  shut  up  there,  and  that  this  Mr.  Wil- 
braham,  who  doesn't  seem  to  behave  like  a  tutor  at  all, 
was  in  the  conspiracy.  As  it  is,  I  think  his  pen  has  run 
away  with  him,  and  they  are  all  very  ordinary  people, 
and  there's  nothing  behind  it  at  all." 

"  Well,'  my  idea  is  just  the  opposite,"  said  Mrs. 
Grant.  "  If  David  had  sniffed  a  story  he  would  have 
put  it  in.  He  doesn't  think  there  is  anything  behind  it. 
I  do.  Perhaps  Mrs.  Brent  wasn't  married,  and  this 
young  Sir  Harry  isn't  the  rightful  heir.  That  would  be 
a  good  reason  for  Lady  Brent  to  lie  low.  Perhaps  Mr. 
Wilbraham  knows  about  it,  which  would  be  the  reason 
for  his  not  behaving  like  an  ordinary  tutor ;  though,  as 
for  that,  I  don't  think  there's  much  in  it,  and  he  behaves 
like  an  ordinary  tutor  according  to  David's  account 
just  as  much  as  you  behave  like  an  ordinary  governess." 

"  A  good  point  as  far  as  it  goes,"  said  Miss  Minster, 
"  and  a  joyous  life  it  would  be  for  you  if  I  did  behave 
like  an  ordinary  governess.  But  you're  worse  than 
David  in  making  up  twopence  coloured  stories.  I  don't 
think  we  need  worry  ourselves  about  the  Brents  till  we 
get  down  there.  Then  we  shall  be  able  to  judge  for  our- 
selves. No  man  ever  knows  what  a  woman  is  really  like 
the  first  time  he  sees  her.  Whatever  Lady  Brent  and 
Mrs.  Brent  are  like,  you  may  depend  upon  it  that  we 
shan't  find  them  in  the  least  as  David  has  described  them. 
Now  read  what  he  says  about  the  Vicarage  again,  and 
see  if  we  can  make  anything  of  that,  beyond  that  it  is 
embowered  in  massy  trees." 


CHAPTER   III 

THE    CHILD 

WHEN  young  Sir  Harry  had  made  that  laughing  appeal 
to  the  figure  framed  in  the  square  of  orange  light  above 
him,  and  turned  away  into  the  shadows,  he  had  already 
forgotten  that  there  had  been  a  witness  to  his  es- 
capade. 

It  was  no  escapade  to  him,  but  a  serious  quest,  about 
which  played  all  the  warm  palpitations  and  eager  emo- 
tions of  high  romance.  To-night,  if  ever,  with  the  earth 
moving  towards  the  soft  riot  of  spring,  with  the  air 
still  and  brooding  as  if  summer  were  already  here, 
though  sharp  and  clean,  scoured  by  the  wind  and  washed 
to  gentleness  again  by  the  showers  of  April,  with  the 
moonlight  so  strong  that  in  the  shadows  of  the  trees 
there  was  no  darkness,  but  diffused  and  quivering  light 
hardly  less  bright  than  the  light  of  day,  and  to  the  eyes 
of  the  spirit  infinitely  more  discerning — surely  to-night 
he  might  hope  to  see  the  fairies  dancing  in  their  rings, 
and  the  little  men  stealing  in  and  out  among  the  tree- 
branches  ! 

He  longed  passionately  to  see  the  fairies.  The  beauty 
of  the  earth  meant  so  much  to  him.  All  through  his 
childhood  his  love  for  it  had  grown  and  grown  till  it  had 

29 


30  SIRHARRY 

become  almost  a  pain  to  him.  For  though  it  meant  so 
much  he  did  not  know  what  it  meant.  It  had  always 
seemed  to  be  leading  him  up  to  something,  some  great 
discovery,  or  some  great  joy — at  least  some  great  emo- 
tion— which  would  give  it  just  that  meaning  that  would 
tune  his  soul  to  it  and  entrench  him  safely  behind  some 
knowledge,  hidden  from  mortal  eyes,  where  he  could  sur- 
vey life  as  it  was,  perfect  and  blissful,  and  withal  secret. 
The  fairies,  if  he  could  only  look  upon  them  once,  would 
give  him  the  secret.  Surely  they  would  not  withhold 
themselves  from  him  on  such  a  night  as  this. 

He  pictured  himself  lying  on  the  warm  beech-mast  in 
the  shadows  of  some  great  tree  that  stood  sentinel  over 
a  stretch  of  moonlit  lawn,  watching  the  delicate  gossa- 
mer figures  at  their  revels,  their  iridescent  wings  softly 
gleaming,  their  petalled  skirts  flying,  their  tiny  limbs 
twinkling;  and  perhaps  he  would  hear  the  high  tenuous 
chime  of  their  laughter  as  they  gave  themselves  up  to 
their  delicious  merriment.  He  would  lie  very  still, 
hardly  breathing.  The  mortal  grossness  which  he  felt 
to  be  in  him  should  not  cast  its  shadow  over  their  bright 
evanescent  spirit.  He  would  keep,  oh,  so  still,  and  just 
watch,  and  grow  happier  and  happier,  and  at  last — 
know.  The  grossness  would  be  purged  from  him. 
When  the  moon  drooped  and  the  fairy  dancers  melted 
away,  he  would  have  seen  behind  the  veil.  After  that 
he  would  never  suffer  again  from  the  perplexing  thought 
that  there  was  some  great  thing  hidden  from  him,  that 
just  when  beauty  gripped  his  soul  and  seemed  to  have 
something  to  tell  him,  and  he  stood  ready  to  receive  the 


THECHILD  31 

message,  there  was  only  silence  and  a  sense  of  loss,  which 
made  him  sad.  Nature  would  speak  to  him,  as  she  had 
always  seemed  to  be  speaking  to  him,  but  now  he  would 
understand,  and  answer,  and  life  would  be  more  beau- 
tiful than  it  had  ever  been  before. 

He  had  always  hugged  secrets  to  himself  ever  since 
he  could  remember,  secrets  that  it  would  have  seemed  to 
him  the  deepest  shame  that  any  one  should  surprise. 
Once  on  a  summer's  evening,  when  he  had  been  lying  in 
his  little  cot  by  his  mother's  bed,  whiling  away  the  long 
daylight  hour  by  telling  himself  a  most  absorbing  story, 
which  at  that  time  he  was  going  through  from  night  to 
night,  he  had  become  so  worked  up  by  it  that  he  car- 
ried on  the  dialogue  in  a  clear  audible  voice.  A  warning 
knock  came  upon  the  bedroom  door,  and  that  particular 
story  was  cut  short  never  to  be  resumed.  It  was  the 
time  when  his  mother  and  grandmother  were  dining,  and 
his  nurse  and  all  the  other  servants  were  down  below. 
He  had  not  thought  that  it  was  possible  that  he  could 
have  been  overheard.  He  had  been  acting  a  garden 
story.  The  characters  were  the  Garden,  the  flowers 
and  himself.  The  Garden  was  a  very  kind  and  gracious 
lady  who  led  him,  a  little  boy  called  Arnold,  with  black 
straight  hair — he  preferred  that  sort  to  his  own  fair 
curls — to  one  flower  after  another,  and  told  him  whether 
they  had  been  good  or  naughty.  The  flowers  were 
mostly  children,  but  a  few,  such  as  geraniums  and 
fuchsias,  were  grown  up.  The  geraniums  never  took  any 
notice  of  him,  and  he  did  not  like  them  on  that  account, 


32  SIRHARRY 

but  looked  the  other  way  when  they  were  rebuked. 
This  fortunately  happened  but  seldom,  as  they  usually 
behaved  with  propriety,  though  stiff  and  obstinate  in 
character.  The  roses  he  often  pleaded  for,  because  they 
were  so  beautiful.  Vanity  was  their  besetting  sin,  and 
the  Garden  often  had  to  tell  them — in  language  much 
the  same  as  that  used  by  the  Vicar  in  church — that  they 
were  no  more  in  her  sight  than  the  humblest  and  poorest 
flowers.  But  he  could  not  bear  to  see  their  beautiful 
petals  scattered,  which  happened  as  a  punishment  if  they 
had  flaunted  themselves  beyond  hope  of  forgiveness.  It 
was  coming  to  be  his  idea,  as  the  story  progressed,  that 
some  day  he  would  make  a  strong  appeal  to  the  Garden 
to  abolish  this  punishment  altogether.  Then  no  flow- 
ers would  ever  die,  but  only  go  to  sleep  in  the  winter, 
and  he  would  be  the  great  hero  of  the  flowers,  with  hair 
blacker  and  straighter  than  ever,  and  whenever  he  went 
among  them  they  would  bow  and  curtsey  to  him,  but 
nobody  would  see  them  doing  it  except  himself. 

On  this  June  evening  it  was  a  tall  Madonna  lily  for 
whom  he  was  pleading  in  such  an  impassioned  manner. 
Lilies  were  very  lovely  girls,  not  quite  children  and 
not  quite  grown-up.  He  had  a  sentimental  affection  for 
them.  He  would  see  them  incline  towards  one  another 
as  he  came  near,  and  hear,  or  rather  make  them  whisper 
to  one  another:  "Here  is  that  dear  little  boy.  How 
good  he  is !  And  isn't  his  hair  dark  and  smooth !  I 
should  like  to  kiss  him."  (Had  he  said  that  aloud,  just 
before  the  knock  came?  He  would  never  be  able  to  look 
the  world  in  the  face  again  if  that  speech  had  been 


THECHILD  33 

heard. )  The  Garden  had  accused  the  lily  of  leaving  her 
sisters  and  the  place  where  she  belonged  to  go  and  talk 
to  a  groom  in  the  stables.  She  might  have  been  kicked 
by  a  horse.  An  example  must  be  made.  No  little  treats, 
no  sugar  on  her  bread  and  butter,  no  favourite  stories 
told  her,  for  a  week.  The  lily  had  cried,  and  said  she 
had  meant  no  harm,  and  wouldn't  do  it  again.  He  had 
adjured  her  not  to  cry,  in  very  moving  terms,  which  it 
made  him  hot  all  over  to  imagine  overheard,  and  the 
lily  had  said,  in  no  apparent  connection  with  the  ques- 
tion under  discussion,  but  in  a  loud  and  clear  voice: 
"Arnold  is  brave  and  strong;  he  can  run  faster  than 
all  other  boys  in  the  world." 

It  was  just  then  that  the  knock  came.  He  was  un- 
happy about  it  for  days,  and  looked  in  the  faces  of  all 
the  servants  to  see  if  there  was  any  sign  of  the  derision 
he  must  have  brought  upon  himself,  but  could  find  none, 
and  presently  comforted  himself  with  the  idea  that  it 
was  Santa  Claus  who  had  knocked  at  the  door;  but  he 
dropped  the  drama  of  the  flowers,  and  afterwards  only 
whispered  the  speaking  parts  of  other  dramas. 

It  was  not  from  any  lack  of  love  for  those  about  him 
that  he  kept  his  soul's  adventures  to  himself.  Of  sym- 
pathy with  them  he  might  instinctively  have  felt  a  lack, 
but  he  loved  everybody  with  whom  he  had  to  do,  and 
everybody  loved  him.  His  mother  was  nearest  to  him, 
though  his  grandmother  was  felt  to  be  the  head  of  all 
things  and  of  all  people.  His  mother  showed  jealousy 
towards  her,  but  not  in  her  presence.  The  child  divined 
this,  and  responded  to  her  craving  for  his  caresses  when 


34  SIRHARRY 

he  was  alone  with  her  by  little  endearments  which  were 
very  sweet  to  her.  "  You  and  me  together,  Mummy,"  he 
would  whisper,  snuggling  up  to  her,  and  stroke  her  face 
and  kiss  her,  in  a  way  that  he  never  did  when  his  grand- 
mother was  there.  He  must  have  divined  too  that  he 
was  the  centre  of  existence  for  his  grandmother,  but  she 
never  petted  him  or  invited  his  caresses,  though  her  face 
showed  pleasure  when  he  leant  against  her  knee  and 
prattled  to  her,  which  he  did  without  any  fear,  and  as  if 
it  was  natural  that  they  two  should  have  much  to  say 
to  one  another. 

During  his  earliest  days  his  mother  often  wept  storm- 
ily,  and  there  was  great  antagonism  between  her  and  the 
old  nurse,  who  had  also  nursed  his  father.  But  when  he 
was  five  years  old  the  nurse  suddenly  went  away,  and 
his  mother's  weepings,  which  had  saddened  and  some- 
times frightened  him,  as  she  clutched  him  to  her  and 
rocked  to  and  fro  over  him,  ceased,  so  that  he  presently 
forgot  them.  She  did  much  for  him  herself  that  the 
nurse  had  done  before,  with  the  help  of  a  girl  from  the 
village,  who  became  a  close  friend  of  his,  though  not 
in  a  way  to  cause  his  mother  jealousy. 

Eliza  was  slow  and  rather  stupid,  but  she  could  tell 
half  a  dozen  stories.  She  told  them  in  stilted  fashion, 
and  never  varied  the  manner,  and  hardly  the  words,  of 
her  telling.  If  she  did  so,  he  would  correct  her.  By  and 
by  she  became  rather  like  a  dull  priest  intoning  a  liturgy, 
known  so  well  that  there  was  no  call  to  attend  to  the 
meeting.  He  could  see  after  all  that  himself,  and  wanted 
no  variations  or  emotion  of  hers  to  get  between  him  and 


THECHILD  35 

the  pictures  that  her  monotonous  drone  projected  on  the 
curtain  of  his  brain.  He  was  the  hero  of  all  the  stories 
himself,  and  carried  them  far  beyond  the  bounds  of  the 
liturgy.  As  Jack  the  Giant-killer,  he  engaged  with  foes 
unknown  to  fairy  lore.  As  the  Beast  he  drew  such  in- 
terest from  his  mastery  over  other  beasts  that  his  trans- 
formation into  a  Prince  with  straight  black  hair  was 
always  being  postponed,  and  was  finally  dropped  out  of 
his  own  story  altogether,  together  with  Beauty,  who  had 
become  somewhat  of  a  meddler  with  things  that  she 
couldn't  be  expected  to  understand.  He  was  Cinder- 
ella in  the  story  of  that  time,  because  of  riding  in  the 
coach  made  out  of  a  pumpkin,  and  the  mice  turned  into 
horses,  but  never  felt  at  home  in  the  character  until 
he  turned  the  story  round  and  gave  the  leading  part  to 
the  Prince,  with  Cinderella's  adventures  adapted  to  male 
habits  and  dignity. 

With  Eliza  in  attendance  he  sometimes  played  for 
hours  together  in  the  garden,  and  he  could  get  away 
from  her  if  he  was  careful  never  to  be  right  out  of  her 
sight  or  hearing.  It  was  then  that  the  drama  of  the 
garden  and  the  flowers  began,  but  when  it  came  to  an 
end  he  returned  to  the  fairy  stories. 

His  mother  told  him  stories  too  at  his  earnest  plead- 
ing. But  they  were  never  the  same  twice  running  and 
had  little  point  for  him.  He  much  preferred  Eliza's 
rigid  version  of  the  classical  stories,  and  the  others  were 
all  about  beautiful  girls  who  married  very  handsome, 
noble,  rich  men,  but  the  men  never  did  anything  except 
love  the  girls  to  distraction  and  give  them  beautiful 


36  SIRHARRY 

presents.  There  was  no  ground  for  his  imagination 
to  work  on,  except  in  the  matter  of  the  presents,  and 
of  these  he  demanded  ever  growing  catalogues,  suggest- 
ing many  additions  of  his  own,  so  that  if  his  mother . 
remembered  these  and  kept  to  them,  there  was  some  in- 
terest to  be  got  out  of  her  stories,  but  not  enough  to  vie 
with  that  of  Eliza's  repertoire. 

His  grandmother  had  no  stories,  but  when  he  was  a 
little  older  she  told  him  about  his  ancestors,  who  had 
done  a  good  deal  of  fighting  at  one  time  or  another 
throughout  the  centuries,  which  gave  him  plenty  of  ma- 
terial. He  knew  that  she  got  her  information  from  books 
in  the  library,  and  he  was  encouraged  to  persevere  with 
his  letters  so  that  he  would  be  able  to  read  those 
books  for  himself.  He  gained  from  her  the  impression 
that  his  family  was  above  other  families,  and  that  in 
some  way  which  he  didn't  quite  understand,  seeing  that 
he  was  subject  to  her,  and  to  his  mother,  and  even  to 
Eliza,  its  superiority  was  also  his  in  a  special  measure. 
He  must  never  do  anything  that  would  lessen  it.  He 
must  not  be  too  familiar  with  servants,  and  especially 
with  grooms  in  the  stable.  He  would  hang  his  head  at 
this,  for  it  was  the  weak  point  in  his  behaviour.  He 
was  apt  to  be  beguiled  by  the  society  of  grooms  in  the 
stable,  to  the  extent  even  of  using  expressions  unallow- 
able in  the  society  of  his  equals.  But  though  he  was  to 
bear  himself  high,  he  was  to  deal  kindly  with  those  at  the 
same  time  beneath  him  and  around  him;  and  he  was  to 
look  upon  Royd  all  his  life  as  the  place  to  which  he 
belonged.  He  would  go  away  from  it  sometimes  when  he 


THECHILD  37 

was  older,  but  he  must  never  be  away  for  long,  and  never 
get  to  like  being  away.  This  was  what  young  men  did 
sometimes,  and  it  was  not  good  for  them.  It  was  not 
right. 

Such  exordiums  as  these,  varied  in  manner  but  never 
in  principle,  continued  throughout  his  childhood,  and 
had  a  strong  effect  upon  him.  A  child  has  a  natural 
preoccupation  with  the  question  of  right  and  wrong  and 
it  fitted  in  with  all  that  Harry  had  learnt  for  himself 
that  it  was  right  for  him  to  be  at  Royd  and  would  be 
wrong  for  him  to  be  away.  He  could  not  imagine  any 
other  place  that  would  suit  him  better,  or  indeed  nearly 
so  well.  His  mother  would  sometimes  talk  to  him,  when 
he  grew  older,  of  the  lights  and  the  movement  and  the 
heartening  crowds  of  London.  She  would  do  it  half  fur- 
tively, and  he  understood,  without  being  told,  that  he 
must  keep  the  fact  of  her  doing  so  at  all  from  his  grand- 
mother. But  he  had  no  wish  to  talk  about  it.  The  pic- 
ture did  not  please  him.  He  gained  the  impression  of 
London  as  a  dirty  noisy  place,  and  Royd  shone  all  the 
more  brightly  in  comparison  with  it.  His  mother  never 
mentioned  the  theatre. 

She  talked  to  him  sometimes  about  his  father.  He 
had  been  a  soldier — a  very  brave  soldier — like  all  the 
rest  of  the  Brents.  Harry  would  be  a  soldier  himself 
some  day,  but  she  prayed  that  he  would  not  have  to  go 
out  and  fight.  He  would  wear  a  beautiful  red  coat  with 
a  sash  and  a  sword,  and  a  noble  bearskin  on  his  head. 
There  was  a  photograph  of  his  father,  not  in  this  uni- 
form, but  in  service  kit,  taken  just  after  his  marriage. 


38  SIRHARRY 

It  showed  a  good-looking  young  man,  amiable  but  weak. 
It  was  the  only  photograph  of  him  that  Mrs.  Brent  had 
in  her  room.  Lady  Brent  had  many  photographs  of 
him,  but  this  one  was  not  among  them.  As  a  child  he  had 
been  very  like  Harry.  Lady- Brent  seldom  mentioned 
him,  and  to  her  daughter-in-law  never.  Harry  knew 
after  a  time,  as  children  come  to  know  such  things,  that 
she  had  loved  him  very  dearly.  She  had  all  those  re- 
minders of  his  childhood  and  youth  about  her.  His 
mother  had  only  the  one.  She  had  known  him  for  a 
few  weeks.  All  the  rest  of  his  life  had  belonged  to  his 
own  mother,  and  she  was  shut  out  of  it.  Her  references 
to  him,  indeed,  were  hardly  more  than  perfunctory.  The 
poor  bewildered  little  lady  had  loved  him,  and  looked  to 
him,  perhaps,  to  translate  her  to  a  more  glamorous  life. 
The  life  of  dignity  was  hers,  but  without  him,  and  some- 
times it  lay  very  heavy  upon  her.  But  she  had  her  child. 
Nothing  mattered  much  as  long  as  she  was  allowed  to 
love  him  and  to  keep  his  love. 

A  French  nursery  governess  came  when  Harry  was 
five  years  old,  Eliza,  who  showed  great  jealousy  of  her, 
not  unmixed  with  contempt  for  her  absurd  speech  and 
foreign  ways,  being  also  retained.  She  was  a  gentle 
little  thing,  and,  when  she  had  got  over  her  homesick- 
ness, bright  and  gay.  She  loved  the  child  dearly,  and 
he  was  soon  prattling  to  her  in  her  own  language,  piping 
little  French  songs,  and  repeating  verses  with  his  hands 
behind  his  back  and  his  head  on  one  side,  to  the  great 
pride  of  his  mother  and  grandmother.  Mrs.  Brent  made 
a  surreptitious  friend  of  Mademoiselle,  and  even  went 


THECHILD  39 

so  far  as  to  take  lessons  of  her  in  French.  Lady  Brent 
spoke  French  with  an  accent  "  tout  a  fait  distingue." 
Mademoiselle  had  observed  that  this  was  the  mark  of 
"  la  vraie  grande  dame  Anglaise"  and  perhaps  Mrs. 
Brent  imagined  that  the  accomplishment  would  bring 
her  more  into  line.  But  it  was  irksome  to  sit  down  to 
grammar  and  exercises,  and  somehow  she  "  never  could 
get  her  tongue  round  the  queer  sounds."  It  was  easier 
to  help  Mademoiselle  on  with  her  English,  and  soon  they 
had  their  heads  together  constantly,  comparing  notes 
about  the  life  of  Blois  and  the  life  of  London,  which 
was  so  gay  and  so  different  from  this  life  of  the  chateau, 
so  magnificent  but  so  dull  and  so  always  the  same.  But 
Harry  was  not  to  know  that  either  of  them  felt  like  that 
about  it,  and  the  little  French  girl  had  enough  of  the 
spirit  of  romance  in  her  to  judge  his  surroundings  of 
castle  and  park,  and  wide  tract  of  country  over  which 
by  and  by  he  was  to  rule,  as  fitting  to  him.  It  was, 
after  all,  the  bourgeois  life  that  she  and  Mrs.  Brent 
pined  for,  the  one  in  France,  the  other  in  England.  She 
recognized  that,  but  when  she  intimated  as  much  to 
Mrs.  Brent  that  lady  was  up  in  arms  at  once,  and  the 
intimacy  between  them  nearly  came  to  an  end.  Let  it 
be  understood  that  the  life  she  had  known  in  London 
was  very  different  from  the  life  Mademoiselle  had  known 
in  a  provincial  French  city.  Hers  had  been  the  life  of 
the  great  lady,  in  London  as  well  as  at  Royd,  and  it  was 
that  part  of  the  great  lady's  life  that  she  missed.  Per- 
haps Mademoiselle,  in  her  ignorance  of  English  customs, 
believed  it,  perhaps  she  didn't ;  but  she  adopted  the  re- 


40  SIRHARRY 

quired  basis  of  conversation,  and  the  friendship  con- 
tinued. Mrs.  Brent  took  little  trouble  to  assert  her 
gentility,  when  once  it  was  accepted,  and  spoke  often 
of  her  family,  who  lived  in  Kentish  Town,  where  she  had 
been  so  happy,  in  a  way  that  must  have  given  Mademoi- 
selle some  curious  ideas  of  the  ways  of  the  British  aris- 
tocracy, supposing  her  to  have  believed  in  the  claim 
set  up. 

But  all  this  passed  over  the  child's  head.  Mademoi- 
selle had  stories  to  tell  him  of  the  old  nobility  of  Tou- 
raine,  which  she  was  clever  enough  to  connect  in  his  mind 
with  the  stories  his  grandmother  told  him  of  his  own 
knightly  forbears.  It  was  from  that  life  he  had  sprung. 
The  ancient  glories  of  the  French  chateaux  were  allied 
to  those  of  his  noble  English  castle.  The  romance  and 
chivalry  were  the  same.  Lady  Brent  approved  very 
highly  of  Mademoiselle,  and  when  she  went  back  to 
France  after  two  years,  to  fulfil  the  marriage  contract 
that  her  parents  had  made  for  her,  gave  her  a  present 
which  added  substantially  to  her  dot. 

Then  Mr.  Wilbraham  came,  and  Harry  began  his  edu- 
cation in  earnest. 

Lady  Brent  had  gone  up  to  London  to  find  a  succes- 
sor for  Mademoiselle.  She  was  to  be  a  highly  educated 
Englishwoman,  who  was  to  give  place  to  a  tutor  in  three 
or  four  years'  time.  Harry  was  not  to  go  to  school ;  he 
was  to  spend  the  whole  of  his  boyhood  at  Royd,  but  he 
was  to  be  taught  all  the  things  that  boys  of  his  class 
learnt,  except  the  things  that  Lady  Brent  didn't  want 
him  to  learn — including  that  precocious  knowledge  of 


THECHILD  41 

the  world  which  had  entangled  his  father,  and  in  effect 
brought  Mrs.  Brent  into  the  family. 

Lady  Brent  brought  Mr.  Wilbraham  back  with  her, 
and  never  explained  why  she  had  changed  her  plan.  In 
some  things  she  made  a  confidante  of  her  daughter-in- 
law  ;  in  others  she  acted  as  if  she  had  no  more  to  say  in 
her  child's  upbringing  than  Eliza.  And  Mrs.  Brent 
never  thought  of  asking  her  for  an  explanation  of  any- 
thing if  she  volunteered  none. 

Mr.  Wilbraham  was  then  a  dejected  young  man  of 
four  or  five  and  twenty.  He  volunteered  no  explanation 
of  his  substitution  for  the  lady  of  high  education  either ; 
nor,  indeed,  of  his  past  history.  It  was  a  long  time  be- 
fore Mrs.  Brent,  who  liked  to  find  out  things  about 
people,  and  especially  anything  that  indicated  their 
social  status,  knew  that  his  father  had  been  a  clergyman, 
and  that  he  expected  some  day  to  be  a  clergyman  himself. 
And  that  was  all  that  she  did  know,  until  he  had  been 
at  Royd  for  years,  and  seemed  likely  to  be  there  for 
ever ;  for  gradually  he  dropped  talking  about  taking 
orders.  She  had  an  idea  that  there  was  some  secret 
between  him  and  Lady  Brent,  but  the  idea  died  away  as 
time  went  on,  and  at  last  he  told  her,  quite  casually, 
that  he  had  gained  his  post  at  Royd  through  a  Scho- 
lastic Agency.  Lady  Brent  had  gone  there  for  a  tutor, 
and  she  had  engaged  him.  That  was  all.  It  did  not 
explain  why  she  had  changed  her  mind ;  but  by  that  time 
her  change  of  mind  had  been  almost  forgotten.  Mr. 
Wilbraham  was  an  integral  part  of  life  at  Royd  Castle. 

Harry  liked   him   from   the  first.      He   was   a  good 


42  SIRHARRY 

teacher,  and  there  was  never  any  trouble  about  lessons. 
Outside  lesson  time  he  was  not  expected  to  be  on  duty, 
and  when  the  boy  grew  older  their  companionship  was 
entirely  friendly  and  unofficial.  Mr.  Wilbraham  intro- 
duced Harry  to  all  the  rich  lore  of  Greek  mythology. 
Here  was  matter  for  romance,  indeed!  Royd  became 
peopled  with  nymphs  and  dryads  and  satyrs,  and  fabu- 
lous but  undreaded  monsters.  Harry  knew  that  Diana 
hunted  the  deer  in  the  park  when  the  moon  shone;  he 
often  heard  Pan  fluting  in  the  woods,  and  centaurs  gal- 
loping over  the  turf.  When  he  was  taken  over  to  Ring- 
ton  Cove,  six  miles  away,  he  saw  the  rock  upon  which 
the  mermaids  sat  and  combed  their  hair,  and  on  the  yel- 
low sands  the  print  of  the  nereid's  dancing  feet.  It  was 
all  very  real  to  him,  and  Mr.  Wilbraham  never  even 
smiled  at  his  fancies.  That  was  one  of  the  reasons  why 
he  liked  him. 


CHAPTER  IV 


FAIRIES 


HARRY  lay  quite  still  under  a  great  tree,  his  chin 
propped  on  his  hands,  his  eyes  fixed  upon  a  spot  in 
the  glade  where  he  knew  there  was  a  fairy  ring,  upon 
which  he  was  sure  that  if  he  gazed  long  enough  with  his 
eyes  clear  and  his  brain  free,  he  would  see  the  gossamer 
fairies  dancing.  His  couch  of  beech-mast  was  dry  under 
him,  and  not  a  breath  of  air  stirred  the  warmth  that  had 
settled  there  during  a  sunny  day,  though  cool  fingers 
seemed  to  be  touching  his  cheeks  now  and  then,  as  of  the 
spirit  of  the  young  spring.  He  was  happy  and  at  peace 
with  himself,  and  his  happiness  grew  as  the  long  minutes 
passed  over  him.  His  world  was  whole  and  good  all 
around  him.  His  life  contained  no  regrets  and  no  unful- 
filled desires,  except  this  one  of  learning  the  secret  of 
his  happiness,  which  touched  him  as  the  fingers  of  the 
still  April  night  were  touching  him,  to  more  alertness, 
not  to  any  trouble  or  disturbance  of  mind.  Besides,  the 
secret  was  coming  to  him  at  last.  He  must  believe  that, 
or  it  would  not  come.  And  he  did  believe  it.  He  no 
more  doubted  that  he  would  see  the  fairies  under  to- 
night's moon  than  he  doubted  of  his  body,  lying  there 
motionless.  Indeed,  his  spirit  was  more  alive  than  his 
body,  which  was  in  a  strange  state  of  quiescence,  so 
that  it  was  not  difficult  to  keep  perfectly  still  for  as  long 

43 


44  SIRHARRY 

as  it  should  be  necessary,  and  no  discomfort  arose  from 
his  immobility. 

If  Lady  Brent  was  sometimes  criticized,  as  she  was, 
for  keeping  the  boy  away  from  the  intercourse  that  pre- 
pared other  boys  of  his  age  and  rank  for  playing  their 
part  in  the  world,  and  the  criticism  had  reached  her  ears, 
she  need  have  done  no  more  than  point  to  him  as  he  was 
at  the  threshold  of  his  manhood,  for  justification.  Shut 
up  in  a  great  house,  with  two  women  and  a  lazy  tame- 
cat  of  a  man;  never  seeing  anybody  outside  from  one 
year's  end  to  another ;  no  young  people  about  him ;  no 
chance  even  of  playing  a  game  with  other  boys — those 
were  the  accusations,  brought  by  Mrs.  Fearon,  for  in- 
stance, wife  of  the  Rector  of  Poldaven,  seven  miles  away, 
who  had  sons  and  daughters  round  about  Harry's  age, 
would  have  liked  them  to  be  in  constant  companionship 
with  him,  and  was  virulent  against  Lady  Brent,  because 
she  would  have  no  such  companionship  in  any  degree 
whatsoever.  The  boy  would  grow  up  a  regular  milksop. 
He  couldn't  always  be  kept  shut  up  at  Royd,  and  when 
he  did  go  out  into  the  world  the  foolish  woman  would  see 
what  a  mistake  she  had  made.  His  own  father  had  made 
a  pretty  mess  of  it,  and  his  early  death  was  no  doubt  a 
blessing  in  disguise.  Harry  would  have  even  less  ex- 
perience to  guide  him.  It  would  be  a  wonder  if  he  did 
not  kick  over  the  traces  entirely,  and  bring  actual  dis- 
grace upon  his  name. 

Thus  Mrs.  Fearon,  not  too  happy  in  the  way  her  own 
sons  were  turning  out,  though  they  had  had  all  the  ad- 


FAIRIES  45 

vantages  that  Harry  lacked,  and  at  her  wits'  end  to  cope 
with  the  discontent  of  her  elder  daughters. 

Poldaven  Rectory  was  the  only  house  of  any  size 
within  a  seven-mile  radius  of  Royd  except  Poldaven 
Castle,  which  was  hardly  ever  inhabited.  One  summer, 
when  Harry  was  about  eight  years  old,  Lady  Avalon 
brought  her  young  family  there,  and  settled  them  with 
nurses  and  governess,  while  she  herself  made  occasional 
appearances  to  see  how  they  were  getting  on.  There 
was  going  and  coming  during  that  summer  between 
Royd  and  Poldaven.  Harry  would  be  taken  there  to 
play  with  the  little  Pawles,  and  a  carriage  full  of  them 
would  appear  every  now  and  then  to  spend  a  long  day 
at  Royd.  Of  all  the  large  family,  there  was  only  one 
with  whom  he  found  himself  in  accord.  The  little  Lords 
were  noisy  and  grasping,  the  little  Ladies  dull  and 
mincing.  But  one  of  the  girls,  Sidney,  of  exactly  the 
same  age  as  himself,  was  different  from  the  rest.  The 
two  children  would  go  off  together,  and  when  out  of 
sight  of  nurses  and  governess  Sidney  became  quite  nat- 
ural and  they  would  talk  and  play  games  entirely  happy 
in  one  another's  company  until  they  were  discovered  by 
the  rest,  and  the  disputes  would  begin  again,  and  the 
eternal  cleavage  between  male  and  female.  Lady 
Avalon  happened  to  be  there,  they  were  encouraged  to 
be  together  and  she  and  Lady  Brent  would  have  their 
heads  close  as  they  watched  them.  A  sweet  little  couple, 
hand  in  hand — the  boy  so  straight  and  handsome,  the 
girl  so  pretty  and  naturally  gay.  There  was  match- 
making going  on,  and  the  nurses  were  in  it  too,  and  left 


46  SIRHARRY 

them  alone  together,  and  often  prevented  the  other  chil- 
dren from  seeking  them  out. 

When  the  Pawle  children  went  awa.y  after  their  se- 
cluded summer,  Harry  and  Sidney  kissed  gravely,  under 
command  of  the  head-nurse,  who  called  them  "  little 
sweet'earts."  But  the  kiss  meant  nothing  to  Harry, 
since  he  had  been  told  to  proffer  it.  He  would  rather 
have  kissed  Lady  Ursula,  a  large-eyed  pink  and  flaxen 
damsel  of  twelve,  for  whom  he  had  an  admiration,  though 
she  never  had  much  to  say  to  him,  and  there  was  no  in- 
terest in  her  companionship  as  there  was  in  Sidney's. 
He  missed  Sidney  when  they  went  away,  but  not  for  long, 
and  by  this  time  he  had  almost  forgotten  her.  For  Pol- 
daven  Castle  had  remained  empty  ever  since  that  summer, 
and  if  Lady  Brent  had  formed  any  premature  matrimo- 
nial plans  for  her  grandson  she  seemed  to  have  forgotten 
them,  for  she  scarcely  ever  mentioned  the  names  of  her 
one-time  neighbours,  and  never  that  of  Sidney  Pawle, 
except  once  when  the  news  of  Lady  Ursula's  marriage 
was  in  all  the  papers.  Then  she  said  that  Ursula  was  a 
beautiful  girl,  but  Sidney  had  always  been  her  favourite. 
Harry  looked  at  the  picture  of  bride  and  bridesmaids. 
He  remembered  how  he  had  admired  Ursula's  beauty, 
and  she  was  beautiful  now,  but  he  hardly  recognized 
her;  grown-up,  she  seemed  a  generation  older.  Sidney 
was  recognizable  in  the  photograph ;  she  was  not  yet 
grown  up.  But  she  looked  different  too,  in  her  silken 
finery.  Lady  Avalon  must  have  been  economizing  in  her 
children's  clothes  during  that  summer  at  Poldaven,  for 
the  girls  had  never  been  dressed  in  anything  more  elabo- 


FAIRIES  47 

rate  than  linen  and  rough  straw.  Somehow  this  brides- 
maid Sidney  was  different  from  his  old  playmate.  He 
could  not  imagine  her  playing  the  Princess  to  his  rescu- 
ing knight,  as  she  had  done  once  or  twice  when  they  had 
got  quite  away  by  themselves ;  or  indeed  his  letting  her 
into  any  of  that  kind  of  secret,  now.  He  put  the  paper 
away  and  forgot  her  afresh. 

Harry  played  no  outdoor  games  in  his  boyhood,  ex- 
cept the  games  he  made  up  for  himself.  But  he  was  a 
horseman  from  his  earliest  years.  Lady  Brent  encour- 
aged it,  when  he  was  once  old  enough  to  go  to  the  stables 
without  fear  of  danger.  He  had  first  a  tiny  little  Shet- 
land, then  a  forest-bred  pony,  and  a  horse  when  he  was 
big  enough  to  ride  one.  He  roamed  all  over  the  country, 
happy  to  be  by  himself  and  indulge  his  daydreams.  His 
handsome  young  face  and  slim  supple  boy's  figure  were 
known  far  and  wide.  He  had  friends  among  farmers 
and  cottage  people,  but  the  few  of  his  own  class  who 
lived  in  that  sparsely  populated  country  he  was  in- 
clined to  avoid.  They  thought  it  was  by  his  grand- 
mother's direction,  but  though  it  suited  her  that  he 
should  do  so,  it  was  in  truth  from  a  kind  of  shyness  that 
he  kept  away  from  them.  His  isolation  was  beginning 
to  bear  fruit.  The  boys  of  his  own  age  whom  he  occa- 
sionally came  across  seemed  to  have  nothing  in  common 
with  him,  nor  he  with  them.  The  girls  eyed  him 
curiously,  if  admiringly,  and  he  had  nothing  to  talk  to 
them  about.  He  was  happier  by  himself,  or  with  his 
horse  and  his  dogs.  But  he  was  never  really  by  himself. 
He  could  always  conjure  up  brave  knights  and  gentle 


48  SIRHARRY 

ladies  to  ride  with  him  through  the  woods  or  by  the  sea, 
if  he  wanted  company.  There  was  a  whole  world  of 
varied  characters  about  him,  from  the  highest  to  the 
lowest,  and  his  imagination  did  not  stop  at  mortal  com- 
panionship ;  he  walked  with  gods  and  heroes  as  often 
as  with  men  and  women. 

No  one  about  him  suspected  this  inner  life  of  his, 
as  real  to  him  as  his  outer  life,  and  still  more  important. 
To  his  mother  and  grandmother  he  was  a  bright  active 
boy,  with  the  outdoor  tastes  of  a  boy,  who  slept  soundly, 
ate  enormously,  and  behaved  himself  just  as  a  well 
brought-up  boy  should.  To  his  tutor  he  was  a  pleasant 
companion  during  the  hours  they  spent  together,  and 
one  who  did  credit  to  his  teaching.  Wilbraham  had  his 
scholarly  tastes  and  perceptions.  He  would  have  hated 
the  drudgery  of  teaching  an  ordinary  boy  who  made 
heavy  work  of  his  lessons,  but  this  boy  took  an  interest 
in  them.  It  is  true  that  there  were  surprising  gaps  in 
the  course  of  study  that  they  followed.  Greek  and 
Latin,  and  English  and  French  literature  took  up  very 
nearly  all  their  time  and  attention.  Wilbraham  looked 
forward  with  some  apprehension  to  the  time  when  he 
should  have  to  tell  Lady  Brent  that  in  order  to  prepare 
Harry  for  any  examination  extra  cramming  would  be 
necessary  by  somebody  else  in  the  subjects  that  he  had 
neglected.  But  at  sixteen  the  boy  was  a  fair  classical 
scholar,  and  his  range  of  reading  was  wider  than  that 
of  many  University  honours  men. 

Harry  was  fortunate  in  having  the  Vicar  to  help  and 
encourage  him  in  his  Natural  History  studies,  for  this 


FAIRIES  49 

was  a  subject  in  which  Wilbraham  took  no  interest.  Mr,. 
Thomson  was  an  old  bachelor,  who  had  been  Vicar  of 
Royd  for  over  forty  years.  His  house  was  a  museum, 
and  Harry  revelled  in  it.  No  doubt  he  would  have  de- 
veloped his  tastes  in  that  direction  without  any  guid- 
ance, but  Mr.  Thomson  put  him  on  the  right  lines,  and 
was  overjoyed,  at  the  end  of  his  life,  to  have  so  apt 
a  pupil.  He  took  him  out  birds'  nesting,  geologizing, 
botanizing,  and  encouraged  him  to  form  his  own  collec- 
tions though  the  boy  showed  no  great  keenness  in  this 
form  of  acquisition.  He  wanted  to  know  about  every- 
thing around  him  but  to  collect  specimens  did  not  greatly 
interest  him.  However,  he  was  proud  enough  when  the 
old  man  died  and  bequeathed  to  him  all  his  treasures. 
At  this  time  he  was  arranging  them  in  a  couple  of  rooms 
that  had  been  given  up  to  them  in  the  Castle.  But  the 
excitement  was  already  beginning  to  wear  a  little  thin. 
When  he  was  not  working  with  Wilbraham  he  always 
wanted  to  be  out  of  doors,  even  in  bad  weather.  And  he 
missed  his  old  friend;  it  made  him  rather  sad  to  be  por- 
ing over  the  cases  and  shelves  and  cabinets  that  had 
been  so  much  a  part  of  him. 

Part  of  the  old  Vicar's  preoccupation  had  been  with 
the  antiquities  of  the  country  in  which  he  had  lived.  He 
had  collected  legends  and  folk-lore,  perhaps  in  rather  a 
dry-as-dust  way ;  but  it  was  all  material  for  the  boy's 
glowing  imagination  to  work  upon.  All  the  books  were 
there,  now  in  Harry's  possession,  and  many  manuscript 
notes,  too.  And  scattered  over  the  country  were  the 
remnants  of  old  beliefs  and  old  rites,  which  took  one 


50  SIR   HARRY 

right  back  to  the  dim  ages  of  the  past.  There  was  a 
cromlech  within  the  park  walls  of  Royd  itself,  and  from 
it  could  be  seen  a  shining  stretch  of  sea  under  which  lay, 
according  to  ancient  tradition,  a  deep-forested  land 
that  had  once  been  alive  with  romance.  All  this  was 
very  real  to  Harry,  too.  The  figures  of  Celtic  heroes 
mixed  themselves  up  with  those  of  the  classical  gods 
and  heroes.  The  fairies  and  pixies  of  his  own  romantic 
land  were  still  more  real  to  him  than  the  fauns  and 
dryads  of  ancient  Greece ;  as  he  grew  older  his  expecta- 
tion of  meeting  with  a  stray  woodland  nymph  during 
his  forest  rambles  died  away,  but  he  was  more  firmly  con- 
vinced than  ever  that  the  native  fairies  were  all  about 
him,  if  he  could  only  see  them. 

He  lay  for  a  very  long  time  under  the  beech,  quite 
motionless,  but  with  his  senses  acutely  alert.  He  heard 
every  tiny  sound  made  by  the  creatures  of  the  night, 
and  of  nature  which  sleeps  but  lightly  under  the  moon, 
and  took  in  all  their  meaning,  but  without  thinking 
about  them.  The  shadow  cast  by  the  tree  under  which 
he  was  lying  had  shifted  an  appreciable  space  over  the 
brightly  illumined  grass  since  he  had  stirred  a  muscle. 
And  all  the  time  his  expectation  grew. 

He  was  in  a  strangely  exalted  state,  but  penetrated 
through  and  through  with  a  deep  sense  of  calm,  and  of 
being  in  absolute  tune  with  the  time  and  place.  If  no 
revelation  of  the  hidden  meaning  of  nature  came  to  him 
to-night,  before  the  set  of  the  moon,  he  would  arise  and 
go  home,  not  disappointed  and  vaguely  unhappy,  as 


FAIRIES  51 

he  had  done  before,  but  with  his  belief  in  that  hidden 
meaning  destroyed.  Only  he  knew  now  that  that  could 
not  happen.  When  he  had  stolen  out  into  the  night, 
he  had  hoped  that  he  might  see  something  that  he  had 
never  seen  before.  Now  he  knew  that  he  would.  He  had 
only  to  wait  until  the  revelation  should  come.  And  he 
was  quite  content  to  wait,  in  patience  that  grew  if  any- 
thing as  the  shadows  lengthened  towards  the  east. 

He  made  not  the  slightest  movement,  nor  was  con- 
scious of  any  quickening  of  emotion,  when  the  sight  he 
had  expected  did  break  upon  his  eyes.  It  came  suddenly, 
but  with  no  sense  of  suddenness.  At  one  moment  there 
was  the  empty  moon-white  glade,  at  the  next  there  were 
tiny  fairies  dancing  in  a  ring,  so  sweet,  so  light,  so  gay. 
And  in  the  middle  of  them,  rhythmically  waving  her 
wand,  was  the  queen — Titania  perhaps,  but  he  did  not 
think  about  that  until  afterwards.  Their  wings  were 
iridescent,  from  their  gauzy  garments  was  diffused  faint 
light,  hardly  brighter  than  the  light  of  the  moon,  hardly 
warmer,  and  yet  different,  with  more  glow  in  it,  more 
colour. 

He  heard  the  silvery  chime  of  their  laughter — just 
once.  Then  where  they  had  been  there  was  nothing. 

He  arose  at  once.  He  had  no  expectation  of  seeing 
them  again.  He  did  not  go  down  to  the  place  where  they 
had  been,  but  made  his  way  home  by  a  path  under  the 
trees.  His  mind  was  full  of  a  deep  content.  The  fairies 
were,  and  he  had  seen  them. 


CHAPTER   V 

MRS.   BRENT 

MRS.  GRANT  was  sitting  in  her  drawing-room  at  Royd 
Vicarage.  It  was  a  lovely  hot  June  morning,  and  she 
was  at  her  needlework  by  the  French  windows,  which 
were  pleasantly  open  to  the  garden.  The  rich  sweet 
peace  of  early  summer  brooded  over  shaven  lawn  and 
bright  flower  beds,  and  was  consummated  by  the  drone 
of  the  bees,  which  were  as  busy  as  if  they  were  aware  of 
their  reputation  and  were  anxious  to  live  up  to  it. 
Under  the  shade  of  a  lime  at  the  corner  of  the  lawn 
slumbered  the  Vicarage  baby  in  her  perambulator,  so 
placidly  that  the  very  spirit  of  peace  seemed  to  have  de- 
scended on  her  infant  head.  It  was  eleven  o'clock  in 
the  morning,  and  there  was  nothing  to  disturb  the  calm 
contentment  with  which  Mrs.  Grant  plied  her  needle, 
singing  a  little  song  to  herself,  and  occasionally  casting 
an  eye  in  the  direction  of  the  perambulator  and  its  pre- 
cious contents.  Jane  and  Pobbles  were  at  their  lessons 
with  Miss  Minster,  or  the  scene  would  not  have  been  so 
peaceful.  The  Vicar  was  in  his  study,  happily  at  work 
on  a  moving  chapter  of  his  latest  work ;  for  it  was  Mon- 
day, when  clerical  duties  were  in  abeyance. 

He  had  been  at  Royd  for  over  a  year,  and  found  the 
place  delightfully  suited  to  his  taste.     He  felt  his  in- 

52 


MRS.    BRENT  53 

ventive  powers  blossoming  as  never  before.  The  first 
novel  he  had  written  at  Royd  had  not  long  since  been 
published,  and  its  modest  popularity  was  now  being  re- 
flected in  the  literary  and  advertisement  columns  of  the 
newspapers.  It  had  already  brought  him  an  offer  for 
the  serial  rights  of  his  next  novel,  from  a  magazine  of 
good  standing,  which  did  not  pay  high  prices,  but  did 
demand  a  high  moral  tone  in  the  fiction  it  published,  and 
made  quite  a  good  thing  out  of  it.  It  was  all  grist  to 
the  mill.  Royd  Vicarage  was  a  good-sized  house  and 
cost  more  to  live  in  comfortably  than  he  or  his  wife  had 
anticipated,  and  his  income  as  an  incumbent,  with  all 
the  deductions  that  had  to  be  made  from  it,  was  hardly 
higher  than  his  stipend  as  a  curate  had  been.  But  he 
had  a  little  money  of  his  own,  and  his  wife  had  a  little 
money,  and  with  the  income  that  came  from  the  novels 
there  was  enough ;  and  it  was  beginning  to  look  as  if 
there  might  be  a  good  deal  more,  perhaps  a  great  deal 
more.  Novelists  with  less  in  them  than  he  felt  himself 
to  possess  were  making  their  two  or  three  thousand  a 
year.  Anything  in  the  way  of  large  popularity  might 
happen  within  the  next  year.  In  the  meantime  life  was 
exceedingly  pleasant,  and  even  exciting,  with  all  those 
possibilities  to  build  upon.  He  would  leave  his  work 
sometimes  and  come  into  the  room  where  his  wife  was, 
rubbing  his  hands,  to  tell  her  how  exceedingly  jolly  it 
all  was.  She  would  look  up  at  him  with  a  smile,  pleased 
to  see  him  so  happy,  and  happy  herself,  with  her  nice 
house,  and  no  anxiety  about  being  able  to  run  it 
properly. 


54  SIRHARRY 

She  was  rather  expecting  a  visit  from  him  this  morn- 
ing, for  he  had  told  her  that  he  was  going  to  set  to 
work  on  a  new  chapter,  and  when  he  had  settled  what  it 
was  going  to  be  he  would  usually  come  and  tell  her  about 
it  before  he  began  to  write.  She  thought  it  was  he  when 
the  door  opened ;  but  it  was  Mrs.  Brent,  who  sometimes 
looked  in  and  sat  with  her  for  a  time  in  the  morning. 

Mrs.  Brent  was  well  dressed,  in  the  summer  attire  of 
a  country-woman,  but  with  her  fluffy  hair,  and  face  that 
had  been  pretty  in  her  youth  but  was  pretty  no  longer, 
she  looked  somehow  as  if  she  had  dressed  for  the  part; 
and  the  air  of  "  commonness,"  not  always  apparent  in 
her,  was  there  this  morning.  The  corners  of  her  mouth 
drooped,  and  there  was  an  appearance  of  discontent, 
and  even  sullenness  about  her. 

She  brightened  up  a  little  as  she  greeted  Mrs.  Grant, 
and  sat  down  opposite  to  her  on  a  low  chair  by  the 
window.  "  Oh,  I  do  like  coming  here,"  she  said.  "  It's 
so  peaceful.  And  it's  such  a  quiet  pretty  room." 

The  room  was  rather  barely  furnished,  but  what  there 
was  in  it  was  good,  and  there  were  a  great  many 
flowers.  To  buy  old  things  for  this  and  other  rooms  of 
the  house  was  to  be  one  of  the  first  results  of  the 
expected  increase  of  income,  but  it  was  doubtful  whether 
the  charm  of  this  room  would  be  much  enhanced.  For 
it  was  quiet,  as  Mrs.  Brent  said,  and  quietness  is  a 
valuable  quality  in  a  room. 

Mrs.  Grant  looked  round  her  with  satisfaction.  "  It 
is  nice,"  she  said.  "  We  are  very  happy  here.  I  don't 
think  I'd  change  Royd  for  any  place  in  the  world." 


MRS.    BRENT  55 

"  I  would,"  said  Mrs.  Brent.  "  I'm  fed  up  with 
it." 

Mrs.  Grant  threw  a  glance  at  her.  She  was  looking 
down,  and  the  sullenness  had  returned  to  her  face. 

"  Fed  up  to  the  teeth,"  she  said. 

She  looked  up  in  her  turn.  Behind  the  discontent 
was  an  appeal.  Mrs.  Grant  felt  suddenly  very  sorry 
for  her.  If  she  was  a  little  common,  she  was  also  rather 
pathetic — a  middle-aged  child,  out  of  place  and  out  of 
tune. 

"  I  think  it  would  do  you  good  to  have  a  change 
sometimes,"  Mrs.  Grant  said.  "  However  beautiful  a 
place  is,  one  wants  a  change  occasionally." 

"  She  doesn't,"  said  Mrs.  Brent  vindictively.  "  So 
she  thinks  nobody  else  ought  to  either." 

It  was  coming  at  last,  then.  Mrs.  Grant  had  formed 
her  own  opinion  of  Lady  Brent  long  since,  and  it  did 
not  entirely  coincide  with  the  opinion  that  her  husband 
had  formed,  though  she  had  not  told  him  so.  Lady 
Brent  had  been  all  that  could  have  been  expected  to- 
wards themselves — kind  and  hospitable,  and  within  limits 
friendly.  She  had  offered  no  real  intimacy,  and  after 
a  year's  intercourse  it  was  plain  that  she  had  none  to 
offer;  but  it  was  also  plain  that  the  intercourse  need 
never  be  otherwise  than  smooth  and  even  pleasant,  if 
the  limitations  were  observed.  Mrs.  Brent,  on  the  other 
hand,  had  shown  that  she  wanted  intimacy.  Mrs.  Grant 
could  not  give  any  deep  measure  of  friendship  to  one 
in  whom  there  seemed  to  be  no  depths,  but  she  could  talk 
to  Mrs.  Brent  about  many  things,  about  Harry  and 


56  SIRHARRY 

about  her  own  children  in  particular,  and  find  a  response 
that  made  for  friendship.  She  could  talk,  too,  about 
the  events  of  her  own  life,  but  was  chary  of  doing  so, 
because  it  would  seem  to  be  asking  for  confidences  in 
return,  and  she  was  not  sure  that  she  wanted  them. 
There  was  always  in  the  background  the  feeling  that 
Mrs.  Brent  and  her  mother-in-law  were  antagonistic,  in 
spite  of  the  apparent  harmony  between  them ;  and  of 
late  that  feeling  had  increased.  Mrs.  Brent  was  such 
that  the  gates  of  her  lips  once  unlocked  she  would  ex- 
press her  antagonism,  and  it  would  no  longer  be  pos- 
sible to  treat  it  as  if  it  did  not  exist.  That  time  seemed 
to  have  come  no*?. 

"  I  hate  that  woman,"  said  Mrs.  Brent,  "  and  I 
won't  put  up  with  it  any  longer." 

There  was  the  slightest  little  pause  before  Mrs.  Grant 
replied.  "Why  do  you  hate  her?  I  can  understand 
your  wanting  to  get  away  sometimes ;  but  she  always 
seems  to  me  to  treat  you  nicely;  and  of  course  she  is 
extremely  nice  to  us.  I  should  be  sorry  to  quarrel  with 
her  in  any  way." 

"  No  doubt  you  would,"  said  Mrs.  Brent  drily. 
"  You'd  get  the  rough  side  of  her  tongue  pretty  quick, 
and  you  wouldn't  forget  it  in  a  hurry." 

Mrs.  Grant  was  a  little  shocked.  This  new  plain- 
spoken  Mrs.  Brent  was  more  of  a  personage  than  the 
carefully  behaved  lady  always  anxious  to  be  making  a 
good  impression  that  she  had  hitherto  appeared;  but 
she  seemed  out  of  the  Royd  picture — and  all  the  more 
so  if  Harry  and  not  Lady  Brent  were  regarded  as  its 


MRS.    BRENT  57 

central  figure.  The  suggestion  of  Lady  Brent  as  a 
virago  was  also  rather  startling. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  mean  to  say  that  she'd  use  bad  lan- 
guage," said  Mrs.  Brent,  in  reply  to  some  demur. 
"  That's  not  her  little  way.  I  won't  tell  you  what  her 
little  way  is,  but  she's  always  the  lady,  I'm  not,  you 
see.  That's  what's  the  matter  with  me.  I'm  Lottie 
Lansdowne,  who  danced  on  the  stage,  and  never  allowed 
to  forget  it,  though  you  can  tell  of  yourself,  since  you've 
been  here,  that  I've  tried  hard  enough  to  play  the  game 
— for  Harry's  sake,  I  have — and  been  at  it  for  the  last 
seventeen  years ;  and  now  I'm  getting  a  bit  sick  of  it." 

She  was  in  tears,  and  Mrs.  Grant  felt  a  strong  emo- 
tion of  pity  towards  her.  She  leant  forward.  "  My 
dear,"  she  said,  "  I  think  it's  splendid  the  way  you 
sink  yourself  for  Harry's  sake.  You  mustn't  give  up 
doing  it,  you  know.  It  has  paid — hasn't  it? — to  have 
him  brought  up  here,  out  of  the  world,  in  the  way  that 
you  and  Lady  Brent  have  done.  He's  the  dearest  boy. 
/  consider  that  you  have  had  more  to  do  with  the  suc- 
cess of  it  than  she  has.  He  loves  you  more,  for  one 
thing ;  and  if  he  sees  you  living  here  as  if  you  belonged 
to  it  all " 

"  Oh,  I  know,"  said  Mrs.  Brent,  drying  her  eyes.  "  I 
made  up  my  mind  about  that  years  ago,  and  I'm  not 
going  back  on  it.  I  suppose  when  he  gets  older  and 
begins  to  see  things  for  himself,  he'll  see  that  I  don't 
really  belong.  I've  got  that  before  me,  you  know.  She 
knows  it  too,  and  of  course  doesn't  care.  It'll  suit  her. 
She'll  come  out  all  right,  but  I  shan't.  The  only  thing 


58  SIRHARRY 

is  that  he  does  love  me,  and  he  can't  really  love  her.  I 
don't  see  how  anybody  could.  I'm  glad  you  said  that. 
I  love  you  for  saying  it.  I  can  talk  to  you,  and  I'm 
sure  it's  a  relief  to  talk  to  somebody.  There's  Wil- 
braham,  but  he's  as  much  up  against  her  now  as  I  am ; 
we  only  make  each  other  worse.  You  do  think  it's  all 
right  so  far,  don't  you?  With  Harry,  I  mean.  He 
couldn't  be  nicer  than  he  is,  if  his  mother  had  been  born 
a  lady.  Of  course  I  wasn't,  whatever  I  may  pretend.  / 
haven't  got  in  the  way,  have  I?  She  can't  bring  that  up 
against  me." 

"  Oh,  no !  Oh,  no !  You  mustn't  think  that.  You're 
part  of  it  all  to  him.  I  said  that  and  I  meant  it." 

She  settled  herself  back  more  easily  in  her  chair. 
"  Well,  I  believe  I  am,"  she  said.  "  I've  tried  to  make 
myself.  I  love  him  dearly,  and  I'd  do  anything  for  his 
sake.  It's  been  right  to  bring  him  up  quietly  here. 
She's  been  right  there.  I'll  say  that  for  her,  though  I 
hate  her." 

"  You  don't  really  hate  her,"  said  Mrs.  Grant ;  "  and 
I  don't  think  you've  any  reason  to.  What  she  has  done 
has  been  for  Harry's  sake  too." 

"  It  has  been  for  the  sake  of  the  Brent  family.  Her 
son  married  beneath  him — so  she  says — though  I'd  have 
made  him  a  good  wife,  and  though  I  loved  him  I  knew  he 
wasn't  all  he  might  have  been.  She's  going  to  see  that 
Harry  doesn't  run  any  risk  of  doing  the  same.  Well, 
I'm  with  her  there.  I  don't  want  Harry  to  be  mixed 
up  with  what  I  come  from.  But  there's  nothing  nasty 
about  it.  It's  only  that  we  weren't  up  in  the  world.  Do 


MRS.    BRENT  59 

you  know  I  haven't  so  much  as  set  eyes  on  my  own 
people  since  Harry  was  born?  Why  shouldn't  I?  I'm 
flesh  and  blood.  My  father  died  since  I  came  here,  and 
mother's  getting  on.  She  was  nearly  fifty  when  I  was 
married." 

"  Do  you  mean  that  Lady  Brent ?  " 

"  Oh,  it  was  me  too.  I  said  that  I'd  give  them  up 
when  I  came  here.  The  fact  is  that  I  wasn't  best  pleased 
with  them  at  that  time.  I'd  promised  Harry — my  hus- 
band, I  mean;  they're  all  called  Harry — not  to  say  I 
was  married  till  he  came  home.  Poor  boy,  he  never  did 
come  home,  but  before  that — well,  they  said  things — at 
least,  mother  did — that  made  me  furious.  I  kept  my 
promise  to  him  till  I  heard  he'd  been  killed,  poor  boy. 
Then  I  let  them  have  it.  Perhaps  I  hadn't  learnt  quite 
so  many  manners  then  as  I  have  since,  though  I  was 
always  considered  refined  by  the  other  girls  in  the  com- 
pany. Anyhow,  it  ended  in  my  saying  I  never  wanted 
to  see  them  again,  and  we  never  even  wrote  till  poor 
father  died.  Still,  I've  forgiven  them  now,  it's  so  long 
ago,  and  I  cried  when  father  died,  and  wrote  to  mother. 
I  was  very  fond  of  father.  He  used  to  take  me  on  his 
knee  when  I  was  little  and  read  stories  out  of  the  Bible 
to  me.  He  was  a  religious  man,  and  didn't  like  my  going 
on  the  stage.  Sometimes  I  wish  I'd  never  gone.  Emily, 
my  next  oldest  sister,  went  into  millinery  and  did  well. 
She  married  long  ago  and  has  a  boy  nearly  as  old  as 
Harry,  though  of  course  he'd  be  very  different.  Mother 
said  she  had  a  nice  house  out  Hendon  way,  when  she 
wrote,  and  three  little  girls,  as  well  as  a  boy.  I  dare 


60  SIRHARRY 

say  I  should  have  been  much  happier  like  that,  though 
I  shouldn't  have  had  Harry.  But  it  couldn't  do  Harry 
any  harm  now  if  I  just  went  up  and  saw  them  some- 
times. I  needn't  even  say  I  was  going  to  see  them  or 
anything  about  them.  Why  shouldn't  I  go  to  London 
for  a  week,  as  other  ladies  do,  to  see  their  dressmaker 
or  something?  I  think  it's  more  London  I  want  than 
mother,  if  you  ask  me.  Oh,  just  to  see  the  lights  and 
the  pavements,  and  the  people  jostling  one  another! 
I'm  like  famished  for  it." 

She  threw  out  her  hands  with  a  curious  stagy  gesture 
that  was  yet  a  natural  one,  and  her  nostrils  seemed  to 
dilate,  as  if  she  were  actually  sniffing  the  atmosphere 
she  so  much  desired.  "  I'm  going,"  she  said.  "  I  don't 
care  what  she  says." 

"  I  don't  see  why  you  shouldn't  go,"  said  Mrs.  Grant. 
"  But  why  should  Lady  Brent  object?  What  can  she 
say?" 

Mrs.  Brent  leant  forward.  "  Couldn't  you  ask  her 
for  me?  "  she  said  coaxingly.  "  Tell  her  you  think  I 
ought  to  have  a  change.  I'm  young,  you  know.  At 
least  I'm  not  old  yet.  It  can't  be  right  for  me  to  be 
buried  down  here  year  after  year.  I  shan't  get  into 
mischief.  Just  a  week  !  " 

Mrs.  Grant  felt  intensely  uncomfortable.  Get  into 
mischief!  What  did  it  all  mean?  Lady  Brent  must  have 
some  reason  for  keeping  the  frivolous  pathetic  little 
thing  shut  up  like  this?  And  yet  she  had  seemed  to 
disclose  everything ;  she  had  dropped  every  trace  of  pre- 
tence, and  had  made  her  appeal  for  sympathy  on  the 


MRS.    BRENT  61 

grounds  of  her  very  unsuitability  to  be  where  she  was. 
If  she  no  longer  cared,  before  this  friend,  to  keep  up 
the  fiction  of  having  sprung  from  a  superior  station  in 
life,  which  from  such  as  she  was  a  great  concession  to 
candour,  how  could  she  wish  to  keep  anything  back? 

"  You  know  I'm  your  friend,"  Mrs.  Grant  said.  "  I'd 
do  anything  I  could  to  help  you,  but  you  see  how  it  is 
with  us  here.  We  shall  never  be  close  friends  with  Lady 
Brent ;  I  don't  think  she  wants  it.  But  she's  kind  and 
well-disposed  towards  us.  I  couldn't  run  the  risk  of 
setting  her  against  us,  unless  I  were  quite  certain  that — 
I  mean  quite  certain  of  my  ground.  It  wouldn't  be  fair 
to  my  husband.  It  would  make  all  the  difference  to  us 
here  if  we  were  not  on  good  terms  with  her.  Have  you 
told  me  everything?  Why  should  she  think  you  might 
get  into  mischief?  " 

She  put  this  aside  lightly.  "  Oh,  there's  nothing  in 
that.  It's  only  what  she'd  say.  She'd  say  anything. 
But  I  see  I  ought  not  to  ask  you.  No,  it  wouldn't  be 
fair  to  bring  you  into  it.  She'd  have  it  up  against  you ; 
you're  quite  right.  I  tell  you  this,  Mrs.  Grant ;  when 
Harry  comes  of  age — or  before  that,  when  he  goes  to 
Sandhurst — I'm  off.  No  more  of  this  for  me.  I  shall 
snap  my  fingers  at  her.  But  of  course  you've  got  to 
stay  here.  No,  I'll  tackle  her  myself,  and  see  if  I  can't 
get  my  own  way  for  once." 

She  sprang  up.  "  I'll  go  and  do  it  now,"  she  said. 
"  No  time  like  the  present." 

She  laughed,  and  kissed  Mrs.  Grant.  "  Good-bye, 
dear,"  she  said.  "  It  does  me  good  to  talk  to  you ; 


62  SIR   HARRY 

you're  so  understanding.  And  it  does  me  good  to  have 
you  here — you  and  your  nice  kind  clever  husband  and 
your  sweet  children.  Ah,  if  I'd  had  a  bit  of  real  family 
life  with  my  poor  boy ! — it  might  have  been  here  or  any- 
where ;  I  shouldn't  have  cared  where  it  was — it  would  all 
have  been  very  different.  Now  I'll  go  and  tackle  the 
old  dragon  while  I'm  fresh  for  it.  Good-bye,  dear ;  I'll 
go  out  through  the  garden." 

She  went  out  by  the  window,  and  stopped  to  look  at 
the  sleeping  baby  as  she  crossed  the  lawn,  smiling  and 
making  a  little  motion  of  the  hand  towards  Mrs.  Grant 
as  she  did  so.  Then  she  disappeared  behind  the 
shrubbery. 

Mrs.  Grant  laid  down  her  work  and  went  to  refresh 
herself  with  a  look  at  the  baby.  As  she  turned  back, 
her  husband  came  out  of  his  room,  which  was  next  to 
the  drawing-room  and  also  opened  on  to  the  gar/ien. 

His  face  was  serious.  "  I  didn't  know  you  had  Mrs. 
Brent  with  you,"  he  said.  "  I've  had  Wilbraham. 
They're  all  at  loggerheads  up  at  the  Castle,  Ethel.  I 
don't  quite  know  what  to  do  about  it.  I  don't  want  to 
get  up  against  Lady  Brent ;  but ' 

She  told  him  of  Mrs.  Brent's  prospective  revolt. 
*'  She  asked  me  to  talk  to  her,"  she  said.  "  But  I  said 
the  same  as  you  do.  We  don't  want  to  get  up  against 
her.  What  is  the  trouble  with  Mr.  Wilbraham?  " 

"  Much  the  same  as  with  Mrs.  Brent  apparently. 
He's  fed  up  with  it  too.  He  wants  to  get  away." 

"What,  for  always?" 

"  Oh,  no.    He's  too  fond  of  Harry  for  that.    Besides, 


MRS.    BRENT  63 

he's  very  comfortable  here — has  everything  he  wants.  I 
told  him  that,  and  he  didn't  deny  it.  But  he  seems  to 
have  developed  a  furious  hatred  of  Lady  Brent.  I 
really  can't  tell  you  why.  He  couldn't  tell  me,  when  I 
pressed  him.  He's  morose  and  gloomy.  He  says  he 
must  get  away  from  her  for  a  time,  or  he'll  go  off  his 
head." 

"  But  surely  he  can  take  a  holiday  sometimes  if  he 
wants  to !  " 

"  It  almost  looks  as  if  she  wouldn't  let  him  go  off 
by  himself.  He  asked  me  to  go  with  him,  for  a  month. 
He  offered  to  pay  all  expenses  and  go  where  I  liked. 
In  the  old  days  I  might  have  been  tempted — if  you'd 
thought  it  would  be  a  good  thing  to  do.  But  I  don't 
want  to  go  away  from  here  just  now — at  this  lovely 
time  of  year,  with  the  work  and  everything  going  so  well. 

Of  course  I  could  write,  but Anyhow  I  don't  know 

who  I  should  get  to  do  my  duty.  If  I  thought  it  would 
really  put  things  right !  What  do  you  think  ?  Ought 
I  to  do  it?" 

"  I  don't  know,  dear.  I  don't  understand  what's 
going  on.  It  looks  to  me  as  if  there  must  be  something 
behind  it  all  that  we  don't  know  of." 

He  laughed  at  her  and  pinched  her  chin.  "  You  take 
the  novelist's  point  of  view,"  he  said.  "  I  don't,  which 
is  perhaps  rather  odd.  They're  all  on  each  other's 
nerves.  Why  don't  he  and  Mrs.  Brent  go  off  together?  " 
He  laughed  again.  "  He  didn't  really  press  it,"  he  said. 
"  He  wanted  me  to  go  this  week.  I  couldn't  do  that, 
anyhow,  and  when  I  said  so  he  seemed  to  drop  the  idea. 


64  SIRHARRY 

He  had  wanted  me  to  suggest  it  to  Lady  Brent  just  as 
Mrs.  Brent  wanted  you.  They're  a  queer  couple." 

"  I  suppose  it's  only  to  be  expected  that  it  should  be 
like  that  sometimes,"  she  said  thoughtfully.  "  I  think 
I  could  talk  to  Lady  Brent,  if  she'd  only  give  me  the 
chance." 

"  I  don't  think  she  will,  and  it  wouldn't  do  to  begin 
it." 

"  Oh  no,  I  shouldn't  do  that.  But  there's  Harry.  It 
all  comes  back  to  him,  you  see.  If  she's  mistaken  in 
what  she's  doing,  it's  for  his  sake  she's  doing  it.  She 
might  give  me  an  opening  there." 

"  I  don't  think  so.  It  all  passes  over  Harry's  head. 
It's  rather  remarkable  how  normal  he  is.  One  might  not 
have  expected  it  under  such  circumstances.  Well,  I 
must  get  back,  dear.  Wilbraham  has  taken  a  big  slice 
out  of  my  morning.  I'm  sorry  for  him  and  wish  I  could 
help  him.  But  I  don't  see  how  I  can,  except  by  con- 
tinuing my  friendship.  I  was  rather  flattered  that  he 
should  have  come  and  talked  to  me.  He  professes  to 
think  very  little  of  my  knowledge  of  human  nature,  you 
know.  But  most  of  that's  a  pose,  and  I  like  him.  He 
went  off  to  tackle  Lady  Brent  himself.  Mrs.  Brent  too, 
you  say.  She'll  have  a  happy  day  of  it,  I  should  think." 

At  this  moment  the  peaceful  seclusion  of  the  scene 
was  destroyed  by  the  incursion  of  Jane  and  Pobbles, 
who,  released  from  their  studies,  came  tumultuously 
round  the  corner  of  the  house,  Jane  leading.  They  woke 
up  the  baby,  or,  as  her  time  for  waking  up  was  past, 
perhaps  they  only  completed  the  process,  and  they  es- 


MRS.    BRENT  65 

caped  rebuke  for  it.  Their  cry  was  for  Harry.  Where 
was  Harry?  He  had  promised  to  come  not  a  moment 
later  than  twelve  o'clock,  and  it  was  already  two  min- 
utes past. 

Jane  was  a  straight,  somewhat  leggy  child,  with  the 
promise  of  beauty  when  the  time  should  come  for  her 
to  accept  her  dower  of  femininity.  At  present  she  was 
more  like  a  boy  than  a  girl,  except  for  her  long  thick 
plait  of  fair  hair,  which  she  would  have  given  almost 
anything  to  be  allowed  to  sacrifice  in  the  interests  of 
freedom.  She  was  aboundingly  full  of  life  and  the  most 
amazing  physical  energy.  She  affected  an  extreme  viril- 
ity of  speech,  and  exercised  a  severe  discipline  over 
Pobbles,  who  occasionally  raged  against  it  as  an  offence 
to  his  manhood,  but  as  a  rule  accepted  the  yoke  and 
prospered  under  it.  He  was  a  handsome  child,  strong 
and  vigorous  too,  but  without  his  sister's  determined 
initiative.  They  were  a  pair  to  be  proud  of,  and  their 
parents  were  proud  of  them,  but  found  them  a  handful. 
Miss  Minster  could  manage  them  by  the  exercise  of  a 
good-humoured  authority  which  never  allowed  itself  to 
be  rattled.  But  it  was  only  Harry  whose  lightest  word 
they  obeyed  without  question.  He  was  their  hero  and 
their  most  adored  playmate.  Perhaps  Jane  showed 
more  femininity  in  submitting  to  his  direction  than  was 
apparent  in  her  attitude  towards  him,  in  which  there  was 
none  to  be  seen. 

Harry  came  into  the  garden  as  they  were  clamouring 
their  questions,  with  his  retriever  wagging  its  tail  at 
his  heels.  He  was  seventeen  now,  grown  almost  to  his 


66  SIRHARRY 

full  height,  but  his  face  was  still  that  of  a  boy.  There 
was  a  radiant  look  of  health  and  happiness  in  it.  He 
was  extraordinarily  good  to  look  at,  not  only  because 
of  his  beauty,  of  form  and  feature  and  colouring,  which 
was  undeniable,  but  because  of  this  sort  of  inward  light, 
which  suffused  it  with  a  sense  of  perfection  that  went 
right  through  him.  Mrs.  Grant  caught  her  breath  as 
she  looked  at  him.  She  saw  him  as  some  wonderful  work 
of  God,  without  flaw,  untroubled  in  his  happiness. 
Whatever  disturbances  there  might  be  among  the  figures 
of  coarser  clay  by  whom  he  was  surrounded,  there  must 
be  some  breath  of  finer  spirit  in  each  and  all  of  them, 
since  he  stood  on  the  threshold  of  manhood  as  he 
was,  here  before  her  eyes. 

The  matter  in  hand  was  the  building  of  a  log  cabin 
in  a  bit  of  forest  that  reached  down  from  the  wooded 
hill  behind  the  Vicarage  garden.  Harry  and  the  chil- 
dren had  been  working  at  it  for  a  month  or  more,  and 
it  was  to  be  a  very  perfect  specimen  of  a  log  cabin. 

"Why  haven't  you  brought  the  saw?"  said  Jane, 
turning  upon  Pobbles.  "  Go  and  fetch  it." 

"  It's  your  turn,"  said  Pobbles.  "  Can't  always  be 
fetching  things  for  you." 

"  Be  quick,"  said  Jane.  "  We're  wasting  time.  Come 
on,  Harry,  we'll  start.  He  can  run  after  us." 

"  Don't  know  where  to  find  the  saw,"  said  Pobbles, 
untruthfully. 

"  Jane  will  go  and  help  you,"  said  Harry.  "  Hurry 
up,  both  of  you." 

Jane  put  her  long  legs  in  rapid  motion  without  a 


MRS.    BRENT  67 

word,  Pobbles  pounding  along  after  her  on  his  shorter 
ones.  Harry  laughed.  "  That's  the  way  to  talk  to 
them,"  he  said. 

Jane  returned  bearing  the  saw,  Pobbles  following. 
They  set  off  immediately  for  the  wood,  and  the  voices  of 
all  three  of  them  were  heard  for  a  long  time  in  animated 
conversation  through  the  hot  drowsy  air. 


CHAPTER    VI 

EEVOLT 

LADY  BRENT  sat  in  her  business  room,  engaged  in  af- 
fairs, or  apparently  so.  Business  room  it  was  called, 
but  it  was  little  like  one  except  for  the  large  writing- 
table  in  the  window  at  which  she  sat,  and  as  a  matter 
of  fact  she  transacted  most  of  the  actual  business  of 
house  and  estate  which  fell  to  her  share  in  a  room  down- 
stairs called  the  Steward's  room,  which  was  far  more 
severely  furnished.  This  large  upstairs  room,  with  its 
deep  embrasured  window  looking  on  to  the  park,  was  her 
fastness,  and  she  did  not  often  withdraw  herself  into  its 
seclusion.  It  was  next  to  her  bedroom,  and  might  have 
been  better  called  her  boudoir,  but  that  the  ancient  and 
severe  splendour  of  its  furnishing  would  have  seemed  to 
rebuke  such  a  name.  It  was  richly  carved  and  panelled, 
the  furniture  was  heavy  and  sombre,  and  lightened  by 
none  of  the  modern  touches  which  made  the  long  draw- 
ing-room downstairs,  which  was  mostly  used,  bright  and 
even  gay.  This  room  was  as  characteristic  of  the  old 
romantic  Castle  as  any  in  it.  It  spoke  of  a  time  long 
gone  by,  and  of  a  life  more  austere  than  modern  life  is 
apt  to  be.  There  were  few  comforts  in  it  but  a  great 
deal  of  rich  massive  dignity.  When  Lady  Brent  en- 
sconced herself  in  it  she  was  the  chatelaine  of  the 

68 


REVOLT  69 

Castle,  seated  in  state,  and  as  formidable  as  it  was  in 
her  power  to  make  herself. 

Mrs.  Brent,  coming  in  from  the  Vicarage,  wrought  up 
to  her  purpose,  looked  for  her  in  the  long  drawing-room, 
and  not  finding  her  there  had  the  intuition  that  she  was 
in  her  business  room.  She  hesitated  a  little  before  going 
upstairs  to  verify  it,  making  a  further  draught  upon  her 
determination.  Of  course !  She  had  known  that  it  was 
coming  to  a  row.  She  was  as  sharp  as  a  cartload  of 
monkeys,  and  had  seen  that  the  row  was  likely  to  occur 
just  at  this  very  time.  That  was  why  she  had  taken  to 
her  business  room,  when  by  all  usual  habits  she  would 
have  been  sitting  downstairs  or  in  the  garden,  during  the 
hour  before  luncheon. 

So  thought  Mrs.  Brent,  mounting  the  oak  staircase, 
and  summoning  all  her  resolution.  She  wouldn't  be  awed 
by  the  stately  lady  in  the  stately  room.  After  all,  it  was 
only  a  piece  of  play-acting.  She  knew  something  about 
play-acting  herself.  She  would  be  cold  and  stately  too, 
announce  her  determination  and  then  go  away.  She'd 
show  that  she  wasn't  to  be  put  upon.  Perhaps  it  would 
be  easier  like  that.  There  would  be  no  leading  up  to  the 
subject  and  no  discussion  after  it,  as  there  must  have 
been  if  she  had  joined  her  mother-in-law  downstairs,  and 
felt  compelled  to  sit  on  with  her. 

But  she  knew,  as  she  opened  the  door,  that  it  would 
not  be  easier. 

"  Oh,  I  wondered  where  you  were.  I  just  wanted  to 
say  something  to  you,  if  you're  not  too  busy." 

The  tone  did  not  seem  right,  somehow,  even  to  her- 


70  SIRHARRY 

self.  Lady  Brent  turned  round  from  the  table  at  which 
she  was  sitting,  and  took  off  the  tortoise-shell  rimmed 
glasses  which  she  wore  for  reading  and  writing.  She 
did  not  look  in  the  least  degree  formidable — a  well-pre- 
served, well-dressed,  middle-aged  lady,  not  really  obliged 
to  wear  glasses,  even  for  reading  and  writing,  and  not 
wanting  them  at  all  for  anything  else.  "  Yes,  certainly, 
Charlotte,"  she  said,  "  I  have  nearly  finished  what  I 
came  here  to  do,  and  you  are  not  interrupting  me  at 

an." 

Mrs.  Brent  had  an  impulse  to  make  up  some  trivial 
message  and  go  away,  but  conquered  it.  Her  voice 
shook  a  little  as  she  said,  still  standing:  "  I  wish  to  go 
up  to  London,  for  a  few  days — say  a  week — as  soon  as 
possible." 

Again  she  had  not  satisfied  herself.  She  had  used  the 
prim  reserved  tone  of  a  maid  giving  notice — "  I  wish  to 
leave  at  the  end  of  my  month."  It  seemed  to  her  that 
she  had  only  just  prevented  herself  adding,  "  my  lady." 

Lady  Brent  received  it  much  as  she  might  have  re- 
ceived notice  from  a  servant,  whose  temporary  dissatis- 
faction with  her  place  must  not  be  taken  too  seriously. 
"  Why  do  you  want  to  do  that  ?  "  she  asked,  in  a  level, 
even  a  kindly  voice. 

It  touched  some  chord  in  Mrs.  Brent.  She  had,  per- 
haps, prepared  herself  for  a  peremptory  refusal,  and  if 
it  had  come  she  would  have  been  ready  to  combat  it,  and 
obstinate  to  push  her  determination  through.  But  sup- 
posing her  request  should,  after  all,  be  granted  I  That 
would  put  everything  right  and  save  a  lot  of  trouble. 


REVOLT  71 

All  the  irritation  she  had  been  piling  up  against  Lady 
Brent  would  be  dissolved.  She  did  not  want  to  quarrel 
with  her,  if  it  could  be  avoided.  She  would  have  to  go 
on  living  with  her,  whether  she  had  a  short  respite  now 
or  not.  And  it  had  not  always  been  so  very  disagreeable 
to  live  with  her. 

"  Oh,  I  must,  I  really  must,"  she  said.  "  I  can't  stand 
it  any  longer.  Just  a  week !  I'll  go  and  see  my  mother, 
and  be  as  quiet  as  possible.  Harry  needn't  know  I'm 
going  to  her,  if  you  don't  want  him  to,  though  I  don't 
see  what  difference  it  would  make." 

"I  think  I  do,"  said  Lady  Brent  quietly.  "But 
perhaps  you'd  better  sit  down,  and  talk  it  over.  What 
is  it  you  can't  stand  any  longer?  If  there's  anything 
wrong  here  we  ought  to  be  able  to  put  it  right.  Only 
I  must  first  know  what  it  is." 

Mrs.  Brent  sat  down.  She  saw  that  her  appeal  had 
been  a  mistake.  She  could  not  now  coldly  state  her 
intention  and  support  it  against  opposition,  behaving 
as  one  stately  lady  towards  another,  as  she  had  pictured 
it  to  herself,  coming  up  the  staircase.  And  of  course 
Lady  Brent  did  not  mean  to  let  her  go,  if  she  could 
help  it. 

She  sat  down  in  a  high-backed  Carolean  chair.  "  I 
don't  want  to  go  into  all  that,"  she  said  stiffly.  "  I 
shall  be  able  to  stand  it  all  right  when  I  come  back.  A 
little  holiday  is  what  I  really  want,  and  what  I  mean 
to  have.  It's  not  much  to  ask,  after  nearly  eighteen 
years.  Well,  I  say  ask — but  I'm  not  asking.  I'm  just 
telling  you  that  I'm  going  away  on  Thursday,  or  per- 


72  SIRHARRY 

haps  Friday,  and  I  shall  come  back  in  a  week — or  ten 
days." 

It  was  not  quite  the  address  of  one  stately  lady  to 
another,  but  it  seemed  to  have  served  its  turn.  Lady 
Brent  turned  back  to  her  writing-table  and  took  up  her 
rimmed  spectacles. 

"  Very  well,"  she  said. 

Mrs.  Brent  sat  in  her  high-backed  chair,  looking  at 
her.  She  placed  her  spectacles  upon  her  well-shaped 
nose,  and  took  up  her  pen.  Then  she  said,  as  calmly 
as  before : v<  If  you  tell  me  you  are  going  there  is  no  more 
to  be  said.  I'll  finish  what  I'm  doing  now,  before 
luncheon." 

"  Then  you're  ready  for  me  to  go ;  you  don't  mind," 
said  Mrs.  Brent. 

"  It  doesn't  much  matter  whether  I  mind  or  not,  does 
it?  You  tell  me  you  are  going.  You  refuse  to  discuss 
it  with  me  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  don't  want  to  make  trouble.  It's  no  good 
talking  over  things.  There's  nothing  much  wrong, 
really.  If  I  go  away  now  for  a  bit  I  shall  be  all  right 
when  I  come  back.  I  expect,  really,  I  shall  be  rather 
glad  to  get  back." 

Lady  Brent  put  down  her  pen  and  took  off  her  spec- 
tacles. "  Oh,  but  if  you  go  away  you  won't  come  back," 
she  said,  turning  towards  her  again.  "  Surely  you 
understand  that !  " 

Mrs.  Brent  felt  that  she  had  been  entrapped  into  an 
opening  unfavourable  to  herself.  Now  was  the  time,  if 
she  had  it  in  her,  to  exercise  the  restraint  and  reserve 


REVOLT  73 

shown  by  Lady  Brent.  But  it  was  not  in  her;  she  be- 
came angry  at  once,  and  showed  her  anger. 

"  Of  course  I  might  have  known  that  you  were  lead- 
ing me  on,"  she  said  bitterly.  "  I  dare  say  it  seems  very 
clever  to  you,  and  it's  what  you're  always  doing.  But 
I'm  not  going  to  give  in  to  it  any  more.  I'm  going  away 
— only  just  for  a  little  holiday — and  I'm  coming  back. 
You  can't  prevent  me.  This  is  my  home.  I've  lived  here 
getting  on  for  eighteen  years — me  and  my  child.  I  dare 
say  you'd  like  to  keep  him  and  get  rid  of  me.  But  you 
can't  do  it." 

"  If  I  wanted  to  do  that  I  could  do  it,"  returned  Lady 
Brent ;  and,  as  the  statement  brought  no  immediate  re- 
sponse, she  repeated  it,  in  the  same  level  tone  but  with 
slightly  increased  emphasis.  "  If  I  wanted  to  do  that 
I  could  do  it." 

"  Perhaps  you  could  do  it,  by  law,"  said  Mrs.  Brent. 
"  I  don't  know  anything  about  the  law,  except  what 
you've  told  me.  Perhaps  you  could  and  perhaps  you 
couldn't.  But  there's  one  thing  you  can't  do,  and  that's 
take  away  my  child's  love  for  me,  though  I  dare  say 
you'd  like  to  do  that  too.  You  don't  suppose  that  if  I 
went  away  and  came  back  here  and  you  had  me  turned 
away  from  the  door,  you  wouldn't  hear  something  about 
it  from  him.  You  don't  suppose  that,  do  you?  He's 
pretty  near  a  man  now.  You're  his  guardian  till  he 
comes  of  age ;  I  know  that  you  had  yourself  made  so  by 
the  law,  and  I  didn't  make  any  objection;  you  told  me 
it  was  best  for  him,  and  I  believed  you.  But  you'd  find 
it  wasn't  all  a  question  of  law  if  you  tried  any  game  of 


74  SIRHARRY 

that  sort.  I  don't  know  what  Harry  would  do,  but  I  do 
know  that  whatever  he  did  it  wouldn't  suit  your 
book." 

Lady  Brent  had  listened  to  this  speech  without  show- 
ing the  smallest  sign  of  discomposure,  but  her  light  blue 
eyes  were  hard  and  cold  as  she  said :  "  There  is  a  good 
deal  of  truth  in  what  you  say.  Your  going  away  would 
completely  upset  everything  that  has  been  done  during 
the  last  eighteen  years  for  Harry's  benefit.  Both  you 
and  I  have  made  sacrifices  on  his  behalf.  We  agreed 
to  do  so  when  you  came  here  before  he  was  born.  I  have 
kept  strictly  to  the  bargain.  I  should  not,  for  my  own 
pleasure,  live  the  retired  life  that  I  do  here,  all  the  year 
round,  with  you  as  my  constant  companion.  For  my 
own  sake  I  should  be  immensely  relieved  to  say  good-bye 
to  you  for  a  time,  if  it  were  possible." 

"  Yes,  that's  the  sort  of  nasty  thing  you  say." 

"  Isn't  it  exactly  what  you  say  to  me?  Why  should 
you  suppose  your  society  is  any  more  gratification  to 
me  than  mine  is  to  you?  " 

"  I  wish  to  goodness  you  would  say  good-bye  to  me, 
then,  for  a  time.  Why  isn't  it  possible?  It  is  possible. 
I  tell  you  I'm  going,  and  I'm  coming  back." 

"  Do  you  remember  anything  at  all  about  the  bargain 
we  struck  when  you  first  came  here,  or  have  you  for- 
gotten it  entirely,  after  nearly  eighteen  years,  as  you 
say?" 

"  Of  course  I  remember  it.  You  didn't  mince  your 
words  then  any  more  than  you  do  now.  You  made  me 
feel  that  I  was  dirt  beneath  your  feet,  but  you'd  put  up 


REVOLT  75 

with  me  for  the  sake  of  preventing  my  boy — if  it  was  to 
be  a  boy — doing  what  his  father  had  done,  and  marry- 
ing somebody  he  loved,  if  you  didn't  think  she  was  good 
enough  for  him." 

"  You  can  put  it  like  that  if  it  pleases  you.  You  con- 
sented to  everything.  You  yourself  wanted  the  child 
brought  up  with  nothing  to  remind  him  that  on  one 
side  his  birth  wasn't  suited  to  his  long  ancestry  on  the 
other.  I  warned  you  what  the  sacrifice  would  be.  It 
meant  giving  up  your  own  people,  for  one  thing,  and  you 
gladly  consented  to  do  that.  It  meant  your  doing  your 
utmost  to  fill  the  position  that  I  freely  offered  you  here." 

"  So  I  have  done  my  utmost." 

"  And  now,  when  what  we  agreed  to  do  together  has 
turned  out  better  than  either  of  us  could  have  hoped  for, 
when  we  are  very  nearly  at  the  end  of  it,  and  can  send 
Harry  out  into  the  world  what  we  have  made  of  him 
here,  you  want  to  break  the  bargain.  And  why?  Not 
for  any  good  it  can  possibly  do  him,  but  just  because 
you  want  to  go  back  to  what  you  were  before  you  came 
here — for  your  own  petty  selfish  pleasure." 

"  It  isn't  that,"  she  said  vehemently.  "  I  say  it  isn't 
natural  that  anybody  should  cut  themselves  off  from 
their  own  flesh  and  blood.  I  loved  my  father  and  he  died 
without  me  setting  eyes  on  him.  You  let  me  write  to 
mother  then.  I  didn't  do  it  without  asking  you, 
and " 

"  Didn't  we  strike  the  bargain  afresh  then?  Didn't 
I  say  I  was  sorry  that  it  should  have  been  required  of 
you  to  cut  yourself  off  from  your  family,  but  that  it  had 


76  SIRHARRY 

already  then  proved  to  be  the  right  course?  And  didn't 
you  agree  with  me,  though  it  was  harder  for  you  to  bear 
then  than  at  any  time?  " 

The  tears  came.  "  Of  course  it  was  hard,  then,"  she 
said.  "  But  you  were  kind  to  me.  So  you  were  when  I 
first  came.  If  I  was  giving  up  something,  I  was  going 
to  get  something  too.  All  that  I'd  been  was  to  be  for- 
gotten, though  it  isn't  true  that  I'd  been  anything  that  I 
ought  not  to  have  been.  Harry  was  to  grow  up  know- 
ing me  as  belonging  here.  You  were  to  be  his  legal 
guardian,  but  he  was  to  be  my  child." 

"  Yes,  and  I  might  have  struck  a  much  harder  bargain 
with  you  than  that.  You  would  have  consented.  I 
might  have  taken  the  child  and  paid  you  off.  That's 
often  done,  you  know,  in  cases  like  yours." 

She  was  sobbing  now.  "  You're  cruel,"  she  said. 
"  Yes,  you  are  cruel,  even  when  you're  pretending  to  be 
nice.  You  like  hurting  me.  Pay  me  off!  Anybody'd 
think,  to  hear  you  talk,  I'd  been  a  Toose  woman." 

"  I've  never  said  that,  or  implied  it." 

"  No,  you've  never  said  it.  You  wouldn't  dare.  But 
you've  made  me  feel  that's  how  you  look  at  me.  Why 
didn't  you  pay  me  off,  then,  and  get  rid  of  me?  " 

"  Exactly.    Why  didn't  I?  " 

"Well?    I'm  asking  you." 

"  I  was  willing  to  give  you  your  chance.  Whatever 
I  may  have  thought  of  you,  I  didn't  want  to  deprive  you 
of  your  child,  or  him  of  his  mother,  so  long  as  you  were 
ready  to  make  yourself  the  kind  of  mother  he  ought  to 
have  had.  You  said  you'd  do  it.  You  were  grateful  to 


REVOLT  77 

me.  You  consented  to  every  stipulation  I  laid  down. 
The  chief  of  them  all  was  that  you  should  break  abso- 
lutely with  your  past  until  he  came  of  age.  Then  you 
could  do  what  you  liked ;  it  would  be  between  you  and 
him.  Now  you  want  to  break  that  stipulation.  I  say 
that  if  you  break  it  on  one  side  you  break  it  on  the 
other ;  I  also  say  that  it  would  be  a  very  wicked  thing 
to  break  it,  now  at  this  time." 

"It  wouldn't  be  if  you'd  just  let  me  go  away  for  a 
bit  and  come  back." 

"  That  I  won't  do.  Why  do  you  want  to  go  away? 
It  isn't  just  to  see  your  mother.  I  know  that  well 
enough.  You  want  the  life  of  London,  the  life  you  led 
there  before  Harry  was  born — theatres,  and  suppers 
and  gaiety,  with  the  sort  of  people  that  you  ought  to  be 
ashamed  of  mixing  yourself  up  with,  when  you  think 
about  Harry,  and  what  he  is.  You've  done  without  it 
for  nearly  eighteen  years.  For  goodness'  sake  do  with- 
out it  for  a  little  time  longer.  Don't  knock  down  what 
we've  been  building  up  for  all  these  years,  just  for  a 
selfish  whim.  Think  of  Harry,  not  of  yourself." 

"  I  do  think  of  him.  I  love  him  better  than  anything 
in  the  world.  I'd  go  barefoot  if  it  was  to  do  something 
for  him." 

"  You're  not  asked  to  go  barefoot.  All  you're  asked 
to  do  is  to  go  on  living  the  quiet  but  very  comfortable 
life  that  you've  lived  here  for  years  past,  and  make  the 
best  of  it.  It's  what  I'm  doing  myself." 

She  dried  her  eyes  and  rose  from  her  chair.  "  I  see 
I'm  not  going  to  get  any  kindness  from  you,"  she  said. 


78  SIRHARRY 

"  But  I'll  think  about  it.  Perhaps  I  shan't  go.  I've 
stood  it  so  long  that  perhaps  I  can  stand  it  a  bit  longer. 
If  I  was  sure  it  was  for  Harry's  good  I'd  never  move 
out  of  the  place  till  I  was  carried  out.  I'll  think  about 
it  and  let  you  know." 

"  You  needn't  let  me  know  anything,"  said  Lady 
Brent.  "  If  you  go  you  go,  and  if  you  stay  you  stay." 

With  that  Mrs.  Brent  left  her.  She  did  not  immedi- 
ately return  to  whatever  she  had  been  doing,  but  sat 
looking  out  through  the  open  casement  across  the  open 
spaces  of  the  park  to  the  woods  beyond.  Her  face  was 
still  hard  and  still  watchful.  By  and  by  she  looked  at 
her  watch,  and  almost  immediately  a  knock  came  at  the 
door.  She  answered  as  if  she  had  been  expecting  it, 
and  Wilbraham  came  into  the  room. 

There  was  a  sullen  discontented  expression  on  his 
face,  which  was  unusual  with  him.  He  had  kind  lazy 
eyes  and  a  whimsical  twist  on  his  mobile  lips ;  but  all 
that  was  obliterated. 

He  took  his  seat  without  invitation  in  the  chair 
recently  vacated  by  Mrs.  Brent.  "  I  want  to  go  away 
for  two  or  three  weeks'  holiday,"  he  said,  scowling 
slightly,  and  handling  his  bunched  fingers.  "  Now 
you're  going  to  have  that  man  over  from  Burport  for 
Harry's  mathematics  he  can  do  without  me — say  for  a 
month.  He's  well  up  in  my  subjects.  The  more  he 
works  at  his  mathematics  the  better  it  will  be  for 
him." 

"  Why  do  you  want  to  go  away  just  now?  "  she  asked, 
,as  she  had  asked  of  Mrs.  Brent. 


REVOLT  79 

"Why  does  anybody  ever  want  to  go  away?"  he 
said.  "  I  want  a  holiday,  and  if  I'm  to  go  on  here  I 
must  have  one." 

"  If  you  want  a  holiday  from  work,  there  ought  to  be 
no  difficulty  about  that.  You  know  what's  best  for 
Harry.  If  you  think  that  Mr.  Fletcher  will  be  of  more 
use  to  him  now,  by  all  means  arrange  it  like  that  and 
leave  yourself  altogether  free  for  a  time." 

"  Thanks  very  much.  Of  course  I  shouldn't  want  to 
do  anything  that  would  keep  Harry  back.  You  know 
that." 

"  Oh  yes,  I  know  that.  He  was  to  come  first  in  every- 
thing. That  was  agreed  upon  between  us  when  you  first 
came  here.  I  saw  very  soon  that  I  could  leave  questions 
of  education  entirely  to  you,  and  I  have  always  done 
so." 

"  Well,  now  I  want  to  go  away  for  a  month  or  so. 
I'm  getting  stale.  I'm  not  doing  him  justice." 

"  Perhaps  not.  I've  been  feeling  that  for  some  little 
time.  But  I  don't  think  it  would  help  you  to  do  him 
justice  if  you  went  away  so  that  you  could  drink,  and 
undo  everything  that " 

"  Lady  Brent!  "  He  was  startled  and  outraged,  and 
glared  at  her  terrifically. 

She  was  not  moved.  "  That's  what's  the  matter  with 
you,"  she  said,  in  the  same  even  voice,  "  though  you  may 
not  acknowledge  it  to  yourself.  I'm  very  sorry  that  this 
has  happened.  I  had  thought  that  after  all  these  years 
the  craving  had  left  you.  I  don't  think  it  can  be  as 
strong  as  it  was.  I  ran  the  risk  when  I  asked  you  to 


80  SIRHARRY 

come  here,  and  helped  you  over  the  difficult  time.  It  is 
years  since  you  told  me  last  that  the  desire  was  strong 
in  you,  but  it  was  easier  to  overcome  it.  What  a  pity 
to  give  way  now !  " 

His  deep  frown  had  not  altered  while  she  was  speak- 
ing. "  Give  way !  "  he  echoed.  "  I've  no  intention  of 
giving  way.  You've  no  right  to  speak  of  that  at  all.  It 
was  all  over  long  ago." 

"  I  helped  you  to  get  over  it,  didn't  I?  " 

"  Yes,  you  did.  I'm  not  denying  it.  You  can  be  a 
good  friend  to  a  man  when  it  suits  you;  to  a  woman 
too,  I  dare  say.  But  you're  difficult  to  live  with.  I  want 
to  get  away  for  a  time.  There's  nothing  to  fear,  of  that 
old  weakness.  Perhaps  I  ought  not  to  resent  your 
bringing  it  up  against  me,  but " 

"  You  wouldn't  resent  it  if  what  I  say  wasn't  true. 
You  may  not  know  it  yourself,  but  you're  playing  with 
the  idea  of  giving  way.  If  you  did  give  way  you'd  be 
very  sorry  for  it  afterwards,  no  doubt,  but  the  mischief 
would  have  been  done.  You'd  no  longer  be  a  fit  com- 
panion for  Harry.  It's  him  I'm  thinking  about.  You 
can  do  what  you  like,  but  if  you  go  away  you  don't  come 
back.  It's  what  I've  just  said  to  Charlotte,  who  wants 
the  same  as  you  do.  I'm  not  going  to  have  everything 
spoilt  when  our  task  is  coming  near  its  end.  If  she's  a 
foolish  woman,  you're  an  intelligent  man.  You  can  see 
it  all  as  well  as  I  can  if  you  clear  your  mind  of  its 
vapours.  You  know  it  wouldn't  do.  You  must  stay 
here  until  you  have  finished  with  Harry.  Then  you  can 
do  what  you  like — stay  here  or  go  away." 


REVOLT  81 

"  It  won't  matter  what  becomes  of  me  then,  I  sup- 
pose." 

"  I  said  that  you  could  stay  here  if  you  liked.  This 
has  been  your  home  for  ten  years.  It  can  go  on  being 
your  home  as  long  as  you  value  it ;  or  at  least  as  long 
as  I  have  anything  to  do  with  it." 

He  sat  looking  down,  still  frowning;  but  his  frown 
had  more  of  thought,  and  less  of  anger  in  it  now. 

He  threw  a  glance  at  her  sitting  there  self-possessed 
and  at  ease,  and  a  wry  smile  came  to  his  lips.  "  Why 
can't  you  always  behave  like  that?  "  he  asked.  "  I  sup- 
pose the  fact  is  you've  worked  off  all  your  temper  on 
that  poor  little  creature  who's  been  telling  you  just 
the  same  as  I  have.  I  met  her  crying  on  the  stairs  just 
now,  and  she  wouldn't  tell  me  what  it  was  about.  But 
I  could  guess." 

She  showed  some  surprise,  but  no  resentment.  "  My 
temper !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  Well,  I  suppose  I  must  pass 
that  over  in  the  state  to  which  you've  reduced  yourself." 

His  face  became  moody  again.  "  I  won't  ask  you 
what  you  mean  by  that,"  he  said.  "  But  you're  quite 
wrong  in  what  you  said  just  now.  Would  you  consent 
to  my  going  away  with  Grant,  if  I  could  get  him  to  come 
with  me?  He's  rather  a  fool,  but  I'd  rather  have  his 
company  than — than " 

"  Than  mine,  I  suppose.  No,  I  wouldn't  consent  to 
that.  You  came  here  on  certain  conditions,  and  you 
must  keep  to  them.  It  won't  be  for  very  much  longer 
now.  I'm  not  altogether  without  sympathy  with  you. 
I've  felt  the  strain  myself." 


82  SIRHARRY 

He  broke  into  a  loud  laugh,  and  went  on  laughing, 
while  she  waited  patiently  for  him  to  finish,  as  if  no 
vagary  on  his  part  could  surprise  or  upset  her. 

"  Oh,  that's  too  rich,"  he  said,  "  in  that  tone !  Yesr 
you've  been  feeling  the  strain,  and  you've  made  us  feel 
it.  That's  all  the  trouble.  Well  now,  look  here,  Lady 
Brent,  I  accept  what  you  say  about  its  being  too  late 
to  alter  things  now — or  too  early — whichever  you 
please.  We're  all  three  of  us  in  the  bargain,  I  take  it. 
It  was  your  idea  to  keep  the  boy  shut  up  here,  and  it 
has  paid.  I  don't  believe  it  would  have  paid  nine  times 
out  of  ten,  and  we've  yet  to  see  how  it  will  turn  out 
when  the  test  comes.  But  Harry  being  what  he  is,  it 
has  been  a  brilliant  success — so  far.  You've  been  justi- 
fied in  keeping  me  and  his  mother  shut  up  here  too." 

"  And  myself,  you  must  remember.  I've  shut  myself 
up  too,  so  as  to  make  it  seem  all  the  most  natural  thing 
in  the  world  to  him." 

"  Quite  so.  And  you've  suffered  for  it,  just  as  we 
have.  Suffered  in  your  temper.  If  we  stick  to  it,  as 
we  must,  you  ought  to  make  it  as  easy  for  us  as  possible. 
You  haven't  lately." 

"  So  Charlotte  seemed  to  imply.  But  I  should  like  tc 
know  how." 

"  Oh,  you  know  how,  well  enough.  You  said  I  was 
a  man  of  intelligence  just  now.  Well,  you're  a  woman 
of  intelligence.  Just  think  it  over." 

He  nodded  his  head,  knowingly.  He  looked  rather 
ridiculous,  and  Lady  Brent  laughed. 

"  I  wish  you'd  go  away,"  she  said.     "  I  want  to  finish 


REVOLT  83 

what  I'm  doing  before  luncheon.  You  may  tell  Char- 
lotte, if  you  like,  that  I'm  sorry  if  I  spoke  harshly  to 
her  just  now.  She  annoyed  me  and  I  did  not  pick  my 
words.  When  three  people  live  together  year  in  and 
year  out  they  are  apt  to  get  annoyed  with  one  another 
occasionally,  for  no  particular  reason." 


CHAPTER    VII 

THE    LOG    CABIN 

THE  log  cabin  had  reached  the  interesting  stage  at 
which  its  framework  was  complete,  and  the  immediate 
task  was  to  nail  thin  bark-covered  boards  upon  it. 
After  that  it  was  to  be  thatched.  Then  it  was  to  be 
lined  with  match-boarding. 

Harry  had  built  every  bit  of  the  framework  himself, 
with  such  help  as  Jane  and  Pobbles  could  give  him  in 
lifting  and  holding  the  timbers  in  place,  not  without 
some  risk  to  limb  if  not  to  life.  He  had  drawn  out  his 
constructional  plan,  from  careful  study  of  a  book.  Then 
he  had  had  the  timbers  prepared  at  the  sawmills  four 
miles  away,  and  he  and  the  children  had  fetched  them  in 
a  farm  cart.  It  had  taken  them  weeks  to  get  the 
framework  finished,  but  they  had  made  a  very  good  job 
of  it  between  them.  As  they  hurried  up  through  the 
wood  to  the  clearing  upon  the  edge  of  which  the  cabin 
stood,  Jane  and  Pobbles  were  full  of  excitement  at  the 
thought  of  work  to  come  which  they  could  really  do 
themselves.  So  far,  it  had  been  helping  Harry,  which 
was  pleasurable  enough,  but  not  to  be  compared  with 
the  pleasure  that  was  to  come. 

Harry  let  them  chatter  without  much  response,  but 
made  the  pace  towards  the  clearing  so  fast  that  they  had 

84 


THELOGCABIN  85 

to  run  to  keep  up  with  him.  He  was  excited  too.  He 
was  doing  something  real,  from  the  beginning.  He  had 
invented  something  and  had  already  carried  out  the  most 
difficult  part  of  it,  meeting  the  difficulties  as  they  came, 
and  surmounting  them.  All  the  rest  would  be  easy 
enough  until  it  came  to  the  thatching.  He  proposed 
to  do  that  himself  too.  Watching  a  thatcher  at  work 
on  a  barn  had  first  put  the  idea  of  building  a  log  cabin 
into  his  head.  He  thought  he  knew  how  it  was  done, 
and  he  could  always  ask  the  old  thatcher  questions ;  but 
he  was  not  going  to  let  him  lay  a  finger  on  the  roof  of 
the  cabin,  nor  even  stand  by  and  direct.  Jane  and 
Pobbles  might  do  whatever  lay  within  their  power;  it 
would  have  been  he  who  had  taught  them  and  directed 
them  in  everything. 

They  came  to  the  clearing — a  space  of  bright  green 
turf  nibbled  short  by  rabbits,  surrounded  mostly  by  oaks 
interspersed  with  glistening  hollies  and  here  and  there 
a  graceful  deliciously  green  beech.  The  cabin  stood 
back  among  the  trees,  its  squared  timbers  showing  white 
and  new  against  the  background  of  green  and  russet. 
Harry  paused  and  put  his  head  on  one  side  to  contem- 
plate it,  and  a  grin  of  pure  pleasure  lit  up  his  face. 
"  A  very  workmanlike  job  so  far,"  he  said.  "  Come  on, 
we'll  get  the  whole  of  the  front  covered  in  this  morning." 

They  worked  at  a  rate  unknown  to  members  of  Trades 
Unions,  measuring  and  sawing  up  the  boards,  and  nail- 
ing them  fast  to  the  posts.  Harry  did  all  the  sawing, 
Jane  and  Pobbles  took  it  in  turns  to  nail  one  end  of  a 
board  while  he  nailed  the  other.  They  quarrelled  a  little 


86  SIRHARRY 

over  this  until  Harry  stopped  them.  Jane  was  of  the 
opinion  that  Pobbles  did  not  drive  in  a  nail  as  well  as 
she  did.  Pobbles  was  of  the  contrary  opinion.  There 
were  only  two  hammers  between  the  three  of  them,  but 
Harry  was  to  provide  a  third  for  the  afternoon.  They 
were  to  have  a  picnic  tea  at  the  cabin,  after  lessons,  and 
hoped  to  see  the  walls  roughly  finished  before  dusk  fell. 

The  brooding  summer  noon  did  not  daunt  these  eager 
labourers.  It  was  more  like  real  work  to  sweat  under 
the  hot  sun.  Harry  took  off  his  coat  at  the  start  and 
turned  up  his  shirt  sleeves.  Pobbles  did  the  same  in 
imitation  of  him.  Jane,  having  nothing  that  she  could 
reasonably  take  off,  contented  herself  with  rolling  up 
her  sleeves  and  warning  Pobbles  that  he  would  catch 
cold,  which  gave  him  an  opening  that  he  was  not  slow 
to  take  advantage  of.  "  Men  don't  catch  cold  when 
they're  working,"  he  said,  and  took  off  his  waistcoat. 
Jane  had  to  admit  inferiority,  for  once. 

They  worked  till  the  last  possible  minute,  and  met 
again  at  the  first  possible  minute  in  the  afternoon.  The 
game  which  they  made  of  their  work  was  more  entrancing 
now  than  it  had  been  in  the  morning.  The  tasks  of  the 
day  were  done,  and  the  long  summer  evening  stretched 
infinitely  before  them.  Moreover,  the  cabin,  with  its 
front  all  boarded  in,  was  now  beginning  to  look  like  a 
cabin  and  not  the  skeleton  of  one ;  and  a  picnic  is  always 
a  picnic  to  happy  youth,  however  inadequate  the  viands. 
They  were  not  inadequate  on  this  occasion.  All  three 
labourers  had  brought  baskets.  A  fire  was  to  be  lit  and 
tea  made — billy  tea,  of  which  Harry  had  learnt  the 


THELOGCABIN  87 

recipe  from  a  book.  The  meal  was  to  be  an  adequate 
substitute  for  what  they  would  have  eaten  indoors. 
Harry  was  to  be  excused  dinner  for  it.  The  children 
had  their  freedom  until  half-past  eight. 

Jane  had  changed  her  clothes,  and  wore,  instead  of  the 
cotton  frock  of  the  morning,  an  outgrown  coat  and  skirt, 
already  laid  aside  "  to  be  given  away."  The  reason  for 
this  apparent  feminine  vagary  became  manifest  when, 
arrived  on  the  scene  of  action,  she  took  off  the  coat, 
which  was  uncomfortably  tight,  and  rolled  up  the  sleeves 
of  the  shirt  she  wore  beneath  it.  She  was  now  at  least 
as  much  like  a  pioneer  as  Pobbles. 

In  their  imaginative  adaptable  brains  they  were  pio- 
neers in  very  truth.  Harry  was  as  serious  about  it  as 
the  children,  though  he  was  too  old  for  any  childish 
game  of  make-believe.  "  Now  we'll  knock  off  for  an 
hour,"  he  said,  when  one  of  the  end  walls  had  been 
boarded  in,  and  the  desire  for  bodily  sustenance  became 
urgent.  "  We  must  get  the  roof  on  before  the  rains 
begin,  but  we're  well  ahead,  and  it's  better  to  keep  at  it 
steadily  than  to  work  ourselves  out." 

He  was  in  some  imagined  country  of  the  new  world, 
where  the  first  duty  was  to  provide  shelter  before  attack- 
ing the  primeval  woods  and  bringing  the  soil  into  culti- 
vation. The  soft  English  glade,  upon  which  the  shadows 
of  English  oaks  and  beeches  were  beginning  to  lengthen 
under  the  westering  sun,  was  transformed  in  his  imagi- 
nation to  a  clearing  in  some  tropical  forest,  or  in  the 
backwoods  of  Australia  or  Canada.  The  Castle,  the 
Vicarage,  the  village,  were  wiped  out.  They  were  very 


88  SIRHARRY 

far  away  from  all  such  signs  of  ancient  civilization,  very 
far  too  from  all  possibility  of  replenishing  their  stores, 
if  these  should  be  wastefully  used.  He  asked  Jane  to 
count  the  eggs  carefully.  "  If  there's  one  over,  Tom  had 
better  have  it,"  he  said. 

Tom  was  Pobbles,  so  called  only  on  such  occasions  as 
this.  Jane  understood  perfectly.  She  was  the  woman 
of  the  party,  and  it  lay  with  her  to  adjust  and  husband 
the  stores,  also  to  support  the  head  of  it  in  his  designs. 
On  such  terms  she  was  willing  to  shoulder  her  burden  of 
womanhood,  and  rather  regretted  having  approximated 
her  attire  to  that  of  the  men.  "  You'd  better  put  your 
jacket  on  now  you've  left  off  working,"  said  Harry, 
throwing  a  glance  not  altogether  of  approval  at  her 
shirt,  which  she  wore  open  at  the  neck,  as  he  and  the 
virile  Tom  wore  theirs.  She  obeyed  meekly,  and  went 
into  the  cabin  to  put  on  her  tie  as  well,  also  the  hat 
which  she  had  discarded.  "  We  ought  to  nail  up  a  bit 
of  looking-glass  inside,"  she  said,  as  she  came  out,  and 
before  she  joined  in  picking  up  sticks  for  the  fire  she 
went  into  the  wood  where  some  late  hyacinths  were  still 
to  be  found,  and  fastened  a  bunch  of  them  on  her  breast. 

Thus  far  they  might  make  believe,  acting  as  if  they 
were  a  backwoods  party,  but  not  bringing  the  pretence 
to  the  point  of  utterance.  They  both  laughed  at 
Pobbles  when  he  said :  "  We'd  better  stick  together  when 
we're  picking  up  sticks,  or  one  of  us  may  get  scalped  in 
the  wood,"  and  Jane  said :  "  We're  helping  Harry ;  he's 
not  playing  a  silly  game  with  us."  Pobbles  thought  it 
would  have  been  more  amusing  if  they  had  boldly  played 


THELOGCABIN  89 

the  game  which  seemed  to  be  in  their  thoughts  no  less 
than  in  his,  but  accepted  the  correction,  and  half  under- 
stood it.  Harry,  who  was  so  wonderful  at  making 
things,  would  belittle  himself  by  playing  children's 
games  about  them. 

But  there  was  no  diminution  in  his  dignity  when  he 
showed  that  his  mind  was  full  of  the  reality  of  what  they 
were  playing  at.  They  sat  on  the  chips  and  sawdust 
outside  the  cabin,  when  they  had  devoured  everything 
in  their  baskets,  and  talked.  Harry  leant  against  the 
new  built  wall  of  the  cabin  with  his  legs  stretched  out 
in  front  of  him,  his  dog  at  his  feet,  and  Pobbles  leant 
against  the  wall  beside  him,  in  as  near  an  imitation  of 
his  attitude  as  he  could  contrive  without  making  him- 
self too  uncomfortable.  Jane  reclined  gracefully  on  her 
elbow,  and  occasionally  pulled  her  too-short  skirt  over 
her  knees.  The  shadows  of  the  trees  had  perceptibly 
lengthened.  There  were  two  hours  of  daylight  yet,  but 
the  heat  had  declined,  and  the  evening  freshness  was 
mingled  with  the  evening  peace.  The  cuckoo  was  calling, 
now  here  now  there,  and  its  grey  form  could  be  seen 
sometimes  flitting  from  tree  to  tree  across  the  glade. 
The  rabbits  were  out  at  the  far  end  of  it,  and  the  wood 
pigeons  were  swinging  home  to  the  high  woods  behind 
them.  But  of  human  occupation,  besides  their  own,  the 
world  seemed  empty.  They  were  secure  in  their  re- 
treat. 

"  It  must  be  a  grand  thing,  you  know,"  Harry  said, 
"  to  find  a  new  place  in  the  world  which  you  can  make 
what  you  like  of.  Supposing  this  were  really  right  away 


90  SIRHARRY 

from  everywhere,  in  a  new  country,  we  should  begin  just 
like  this,  with  a  cabin  a  bit  bigger  but  much  the  same 
in  plan.  Then  we  should  make  our  garden  round  about 
it.  After  that  we  should  prepare  our  fields.  We  should 
cut  down  trees,  for  more  building  when  we  wanted  it,  and 
for  logs  for  burning  in  the  winter.  We  should  have  our 
animals ;  we  should  have  everything  that  we  wanted 
round  us,  and  what  we  hadn't  got  we  should  have  to 
do  without  until  we  could  go  and  bring  it  from  the 
nearest  town,  which  might  be  hundreds  of  miles  away. 
There'd  be  a  tremendous  lot  to  do  every  day,  but  you'd 
like  doing  it,  and  you'd  see  the  whole  thing  grow  and 
grow  till  you  had  a  splendid  place  which  you  had  made 
out  of  nothing,  and  hundreds  of  people  working  on  it." 

"  Shall  you  do  that,  when  you're  quite  grown  up, 
Harry?"  asked  Pobbles.  "I  think  I  shall.  I  know  a 
good  deal  about  it  already,  and  I  can  easily  learn  some 
more." 

Jane  forbore  to  rebuke  his  assumption  of  knowledge, 
having  one  to  make  on  her  own  account.  "  I  used  to 
think  I  should  hate  having  to  sew  and  learn  to  cook," 
she  said.  "  But  I  shouldn't  mind  it  if  I  was  living  in  a 
log  cabin.  I  can  cook  some  things  already.  I  suppose 
it  would  be  more  fun  to  be  a  man,  but  a  woman  would 
have  to  ride  and  all  that,  if  she  lived  in  a  new  country ; 
and  she  could  ride  astride." 

"  It's  only  when  things  begin  to  get  a  little  settled 
that  women  go  at  all,"  said  Harry,  dashing  these 
dreams.  "  The  real  pioneers  go  alone,  and  carry  every- 
thing they  want  with  them  on  horseback.  It  must  be 


THELOGCABIN  91 

glorious  to  ride  for  day  after  day  in  a  country  where  no 
white  man  has  ever  been  before,  and  at  last  to  come  to 
some  lovely  place  where  he  can  make  a  settlement." 

"  There's  no  reason  why  a  woman  shouldn't  do  that 
too,"  said  Jane.  "  She  could  go  alone  herself,  if  the 
man  didn't  want  her.  She  could  dress  like  a  man." 

Pebbles  exploded  with  mirth,  at  some  cryptic  joke  of 
his  own.  "  A  pretty  fool  she'd  look  if  the  Redskins 
caught  her !  "  he  said. 

"  Shut  up,"  said  Jane  sharply,  relinquishing  her 
dreams  of  a  woman's  empire,  "  or  I'll  punch  your  head." 

"  Shut  up  both  of  you,"  said  Harry,  "  and  don't  spoil 
things  by  quarrelling.  You'd  never  do  for  that  sort  of 
life  if  you  couldn't  spend  five  minutes  without  flying  at 
one  another.  You'd  have  to  spend  weeks  and  months 
together  without  seeing  another  living  soul." 

"  But  you'd  be  there,"  said  Pobbles.  "  You'd  keep 
her  in  order." 

"  Shall  you  ever  do  it,  Harry,  do  you  think?  "  asked 
Jane.  "  I  should  like  to  come  too,  if  you  do.  I  could 
wait  behind  till  you'd  found  the  right  place,  and  then 
Tom  and  I  could  come  on  together." 

"  Perhaps  I  shall  some  day,"  said  Harry,  for  whom 
time  and  youth  seemed  to  stretch  ahead  illimitably. 
"  But  not  until  after  I've  been  in  the  army  for  some 
years.  And  I  couldn't  be  away  long  from  Royd.  I 
might  just  go  pioneering,  and  leave  somebody  else  to 
work  up  the  place  I've  found." 

"  Oh,  you  could  leave  Jane  and  me,"  said  Pobbles. 
"  And  you  could  come  there  and  see  us  sometimes.  You 


92  SIRHARRY 

would  find  we  had  worked  it  up  better  each  time  you 
came." 

"  I  shouldn't  care  about  it  unless  Harry  was  there  all 
the  time,"  said  Jane.  "  Besides,  I  am  going  into  the 
army  too.  I  read  about  a  girl  in  Russia  who  fought  all 
through  the  wars,  and  nobody  found  her  out.  I  shall 
be  in  Harry's  regiment,  but  he  won't  tell  anybody.  You 
can  too,  Pobbles,  when  you're  old  enough." 

Harry  looked  at  her,  and  laughed  with  great  enjoy- 
ment. He  had  just  seen  the  woman  coming  out  in  her, 
and  been  mildly  entertained  by  it  through  his  serious- 
ness. Now  she  was  a  sexless  child  again.  "  You're  one 
in  a  thousand,  Jane,"  he  said.  "  Of  course  you  shall 
join  my  regiment,  and  Pobbles  too.  We'll  have  some 
jolly  times,  and  when  it  comes  to  fighting  we  three  will 
stick  together." 

Jane  did  not  mind  being  laughed  at  by  Harr}',  and 
was  pleased  at  the  prospect  held  out  to  her.  She  took 
off  her  jacket,  when  they  set  to  work  again  at  the  cabin, 
and  threw  away  the  bluebells,  wondering  why  she  had 
picked  them. 

Dusk  was  falling  as  Harry  made  his  way  up  through 
the  wood  and  across  the  park  homewards.  The  air  was 
very  still,  and  the  sweet  scents  of  the  earth,  dissolved  in 
dew,  rose  like  incense.  Usually  his  impressionable  un- 
troubled mind  would  have  leapt  to  the  message  of  his 
senses,  and  he  would  have  exulted  in  the  beauty  that  Jay 
all  around  him,  sublimated  by  the  spell  of  oncoming 
night.  But  as  his  feet  brushed  the  moisture  from  the 
grass,  and  stirred  the  cool  scents  to  gieet  his  nostrils, 


THELOGCABIN  93 

he  looked  down  and  not  up  as  his  way  was.  A  vague 
discontent  was  upon  his  spirit,  which  was  not  quite  un- 
happiness  though  near  akin  to  it. 

The  vision  of  a  free  life  in  a  free  untouched  land  had 
come  to  him.  For  the  first  time  in  his  happy  boyhood  he 
felt  himself  bound  by  his  lot.  The  great  world,  with 
its  endless  varieties  of  adventure  and  invitation  to  be 
doing  and  living,  lay  beyond  his  horizons  and  he  had 
never  crossed  them. 

Melancholy  touched  him  so  seldom  that  it  was  a  dis- 
comfort to  be  resisted.  He  wondered  what  made  him 
sad  at  the  thought  of  being  tied  to  Royd,  which  had 
hitherto  been  a  paradise  of  enjoyment  to  him.  He 
stood  still  as  he  came  out  from  among  the  trees  and 
looked  across  the  park  to  the  dark  mass  of  the  Castle, 
in  which  lights  were  glimmering  here  and  there,  making 
it  more  romantic  and  beautiful  even  than  when  seen  in 
the  day-time.  And  as  he  looked,  the  momentary  sadness 
fell  from  him,  and  he  smiled  with  pleasure  at  the  scene 
so  familiar  yet  always  showing  itself  in  some  new  emana- 
tion of  beauty.  He  was  coming  to  the  age  at  which  he 
could  no  longer  be  satisfied  with  it  as  holding  everything 
in  life.  The  shadow  of  unrest  had  just  fallen  upon  him, 
but  it  would  not  be  yet  that  he  would  walk  in  it. 

As  he  neared  the  Castle  a  white  figure,  dimly  seen  in 
the  dusk,  detached  itself  from  the  gloom  that  lay  about 
the  massive  walls  and  came  towards  him  along  the 
trodden  path  by  which  he  was  hastening.  He  recog- 
nized it  as  that  of  his  mother,  who  not  infrequently  came 
out  to  meet  him  like  this  when  he  had  begged  off  dinner 


94  SIRHARRY 

and  came  back  after  it.  It  usually  gave  him  pleasure  to 
find  her  waiting  for  him  in  this  way.  There  was  not, 
perhaps,  very  much  in  common  between  them,  but  he 
knew  how  much  he  was  to  her,  and  his  chivalry  went 
out  towards  her,  in  love  and  a  sense  of  protection. 

To-night  he  was  conscious  of  the  least  little  sense  of 
discomfort  in  meeting  her.  His  time  was  so  fully  taken 
up,  with  his  work  indoors  and  his  innumerable  pursuits 
out  of  doors,  that  neither  his  mother  nor  his  grand- 
mother saw  very  much  of  him  except  at  meal-times,  and 
less  than  ever  in  the  summer-time.  It  was  part  of  the 
wisdom  of  Lady  Brent  that  he  was  left  as  free  as  he  was. 
But  he  was  sensitive  to  the  atmosphere  around  him,  and 
of  late  when  the  inmates  of  the  Castle  had  been  together 
it  had  been  uncomfortable.  Wilbraham,  while  they  had 
done  their  work  together,  had  been  much  as  usual,  but 
at  table  he  had  been  morose  and  snappy.  The  two 
women  had  obviously  put  constraint  upon  themselves  to 
be  easy  and  natural  before  him,  but  the  coldness  and  ir- 
ritation between  them  had  peeped  through.  There  had 
been  nothing  to  cause  him  to  reflect  upon  something 
wrong,  and  the  cause  of  it ;  he  had  been  full  of  his  own 
devices  and  forgotten  all  about  the  discomfort  at  home 
the  moment  he  was  away  from  it.  But  the  discomfort 
was  there.  Perhaps  it  had  had  to  do  with  the  vague 
discontent  that  had  just  come  upon  him  and  passed 
away.  But  the  sight  of  his  mother  coming  to  meet  him 
brought  it  back  ever  so  little.  Whatever  his  dreams  for 
the  future,  whether  at  home  or  abroad,  the  whims  and 
vagaries  of  his  elders  if  indulged  in  must  shut  them  off. 


THELOGCABIN  95 

Going  away  from  Royd  meant  going  away  from  them; 
Royd  itself  must  lose  some  of  its  glamour  if  life  there 
was  to  be  troubled  by  their  jars. 

But  he  remembered  now,  as  he  called  to  his  mother  and 
hurried  his  steps  to  meet  her,  that  the  cloud  had  seemed 
to  have  lifted  itself  somewhat  at  luncheon  that  day. 
Wilbraham,  at  any  rate,  had  recovered  his  equanimity 
entirely,  and  had  been  good-humoured  and  talkative; 
and  Lady  Brent  had  been  suave,  when  -for  some  days 
she  had  seemed  covered  with  prickles.  Only  his  mother 
had  been  subdued,  with  traces  of  past  tears  about  her 
eyes. 

He  reproached  himself  that  he  had  not  taken  much 
notice  of  these  signs  of  disturbance  in  her.  He  had  been 
too  busy  with  his  schemes  for  the  afternoon,  about  which 
he  had  talked  freely,  as  he  was  encouraged  to  talk 
about  everything  that  interested  him.  He  had  felt  in- 
stinctively that  any  sort  of  chatter  from  him  would  be 
welcomed.  But  he  had  escaped  as  soon  as  possible  after 
luncheon  and  forgotten  all  about  the  tension  until  now. 

"  Well,  little  mother!  "  he  said  as  he  came  up  to  her. 
"  Ought  you  to  be  out  at  this  time  of  night  without  a 
wrap  or  anything?  " 

He  had  a  clear,  rather  high-pitched  voice  that  was 
music  in  her  ears.  She  loved  him  anew  for  the  kindness 
in  it,  and  for  the  question  which  showed  that  he  was 
careful  of  her.  He  put  his  arm  round  her  shoulder  and 
kissed  her,  and  his  hand  went  down  to  her  waist  and 
remained  there  as  she  turned  to  walk  with  him.  All  this 
thrilled  her  with  pleasure,  and  her  voice  shook  a  little 


96  SIRHARRY 

as  she  answered  him,  though  she  tried  to  keep  it  level. 

"  Oh,  I'm  all  right,  dear,"  she  said.  "  It's  very  warm. 
Shall  we  go  into  the  garden  for  a  little?  It's  lovely 
there  now." 

"  Yes ;  let's,"  he  said  at  once,  though  he  had  intended 
to  go  in  and  forage  for  food,  for  he  was  hungry  again. 

They  went  into  the  garden  through  a  tall  iron  gate  in 
the  wall,  and  walked  up  and  down  the  long  bowling 
green,  which  was  hidden  from  the  house  by  a  high  yew 
hedge.  A  fountain  plashed  in  a  pool  at  the  far  end  of 
it;  there  were  no  flowers  to  be  seen  just  here,  but  the 
air  was  full  of  their  scent.  The  light  had  not  yet 
faded  out  of  the  sky,  but  stars  were  beginning  to  twinkle 
in  it.  The  grass  was  close  cut,  but  wet  with  dew.  He 
bent  down  to  see  whether  she  was  fitly  shod,  and  found 
she  had  put  on  goloshes.  She  laughed  at  him.  "  No- 
body can  see  them,"  she  said,  "  but  you  like  taking  care 
of  your  old  mother,  don't  you,  darling?  " 

"  You're  not  old,"  said  Harry ;  "  and  of  course  you 
must  be  taken  care  of.  Isn't  it  lovely  out  here?  I  don't 
think  there  can  be  any  place  so  lovely  as  Royd  in  the 
whole  world,  though  I  haven't  seen  much  of  the  world, 
so  far." 

"  I  think  it's  lovely  too,"  she  said.  "  But  I  shouldn't 
want  to  stay  here  always  if  you  weren't  here.  You've 
never  wanted  to  go  away,  have  you,  Harry?  " 

He  laughed  at  his  remembrances.  "  Just  for  a  little 
this  afternoon,  I  thought  I  should  like  to  go  some- 
where else,"  he  said.  "  The  children  and  I  have  been 
building  our  log  cabin,  and  I  rather  wished  it  was  a 


THELOGCABIN  97 

real  one,  quite  away  from  everything,  in  some  far-off 
country.  But  I  suppose  I  shouldn't  like  to  be  away 
from  Royd  for  very  long." 

"  It  won't  be  very  long  before  you  do  go  away  now," 
she  said.  "  Oh,  I  do  hope  it  won't  change  you,  Harry 
dear.  It's  so  different,  out  in  the  world.  Sometimes  I 
long  for  it,  but  I  believe  this  is  best,  after  all.  If  you 
told  me  I  could  go  to-morrow  I  don't  think  I  would  now. 
I  wouldn't  go  as  long  as  you  were  here,  and  I  knew  you 
were  happy  being  here." 

"  I  haven't  looked  forward  very  much  to  going  to 
Sandhurst,"  he  said,  thoughtfully.  "  I  shan't  be  nearly 
so  free  there  as  I  am  here,  and  I'm  not  sure  I  shall  get 
on  very  well  with  the  others.  I've  never  had  much  to  do 
with  other  people  of  my  own  age." 

"  No,  you're  different,"  she  said.  "  But  you're  much 
nicer.  I  don't  think  you'd  have  been  so  nice  if  you  had 
been  brought  up  like  other  boys ;  or  so  happy,  either. 
But  you'll  have  to  be  careful  when  you  go  away.  There 
are  lots  of  temptations  which  other  boys  of  your  age 
know  about,  and  you  don't." 

He  turned  a  smiling  face  on  her.  "  Then  hadn't  you 
better  tell  me  about  them?"  he  said.  "Do  you  mean 
drinking  and  gambling?  I  was  reading  a  book  the  other 
day  about  all  that.  It  didn't  seem  to  me  much  of  a 
temptation.  I  suppose  I  shall  have  as  much  money  as  I 
want  without  gambling  for  it,  shan't  I?  And  why 
should  I  want  to  drink  if  I'm  not  thirsty?  " 

She  had  not  paid  much  attention  to  this.  She  was 
wondering  whether  she  dared  talk  to  him  of  the  life, 


98  SIRHARRY 

as  it  appeared  to  her,  from  which  he  had  been  kept 
secluded.  It  had  been  tacitly  accepted,  all  through  his 
boyhood,  that  no  mystery  was  to  be  made  of  it,  and  any 
questions  he  might  ask  should  be  answered,  but  that  his 
being  kept  at  Royd  was  to  be  taken  as  a  natural  thing. 
After  her  late  revolt  she  had  swung  round  to  a  complete 
acceptance  of  the  understanding  by  which  those  who 
were  responsible  for  Harry  should  share  in  the  seclusion 
which  had  been  laid  down  as  the  best  thing  for  him  dur- 
ing his  boyhood.  Only  so  could  it  be  accepted  without 
question  by  him.  Lady  Brent  had  triumphed,  and  had 
shown,  this  evening,  that  she  bore  no  malice  on  account 
of  what  had  lately  happened.  Mrs.  Brent  was  at  peace 
with  her,  and  once  more  a  loyal  supporter  of  1:  er  views. 
But  there  was  a  little  jealousy  and  a  little  egotism  left. 
She  was  Harry's  mother.  If  any  enlightenment  was  to 
be  brought  to  him  as  to  what  lay  before  him,  surely  she 
might  be  considered  the  right  person  to  give  it !  It  was 
only  because  she  knew  that  Lady  Brent  would  not  think 
so  that  she  hesitated. 

"  Oh,  drinking  and  gambling,"  she  said,  catching  him 
up.  "  No,  I  don't  think  those  would  be  temptations  to 
you,  brought  up  as  you  have  been,  though  one  never 
knows,  with  young  men.  It's  women  7  should  be  afraid 
of.  They'll  try  to  get  hold  of  you.  You  see  you'll  be 
a  great  catch,  Harry.  And  of  course  you're  very  hand- 
some. You'll  have  to  be  careful  about  designing 
women." 

No,  decidedly,  Lady  Brent  would  not  have  approved 
of  this  kind  of  warning. 


THELOGCABIN  99 

It  seemed  to  be  distasteful  to  Harry  too.  "  All  right, 
mother,  I'll  take  care,"  he  said,  shortly. 

"  It  would  never  do  for  you  to  marry  beneath  you," 
she  went  on,  rather  surprisingly,  and  would  have  gone 
on  to  amplify  her  statement,  but  that  Harry  suddenly 
cut  her  short. 

"  I'm  most  frightfully  hungry,  mother,"  he  said. 
"  Let's  go  in  and  see  if  we  can  get  hold  of  anything. 
Then  I  think  it  will  be  about  time  for  me  to  go  to  bed." 


CHAPTER   VIII 

AUGUST 

HARRY  stood  at  a  window  of  his  room  in  the  tower, 
looking  out  on  to  the  trees,  which  tossed  and  struggled 
against  the  gale.  Heavy  clouds  were  racing  across  the 
sky  and  at  no  long  intervals  gusts  of  rain  rattled  against 
the  westward  window. 

Harry  had  asked  for  this  room  as  his  own  a  year  or 
two  before.  It  filled  the  whole  space  of  the  tower  on 
its  top  story,  except  for  the  corner  in  which  was  the 
spiral  stone  stairway,  and  had  windows  on  all  four 
sides.  In  front  was  the  park,  and  from  this  height  could 
be  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  sea  across  the  tops  of  the 
trees  beyond  it,  but  this  afternoon  it  was  blotted  out  by 
the  grey  mist  which  seemed  to  take  the  colour  from 
everything,  though  the  month  was  August  and  the  deep 
rich  tones  of  the  woods  would  ordinarily  have  stood  out 
boldly.  Below  the  three  other  windows  lay  the  long 
irregular  roofs  of  the  ancient  house,  with  the  court- 
yards enclosed,  and  the  outbuildings,  the  gardens,  the 
orchard, — a  fascinating  bird's-eye  view  containing  all 
sorts  of  curious  surprises.  Harry  had  never  been  tired 
of  it  as  a  child,  and  found  it  interesting  now,  though 
it  had  ceased  to  hold  any  new  discovery.  The  room  had 
not  been  used  until  he  had  taken  to  it,  though  it  had 

100 


AUGUST  101 

contained  some  old  pieces  of  furniture.  He  had  added 
to  them  whatever  had  taken  his  fancy  from  the  many 
unoccupied  rooms  of  the  house,  and  brought  whatever 
he  wanted  for  his  own  pursuits  here.  He  was  never  dis- 
turbed in  this  room,  and  never  entered  it  except  when 
he  wanted  to  be  alone.  He  did  his  work  downstairs  in 
the  room  that  was  still  called  the  schoolroom ;  he  read  in 
the  library,  where  Wilbraham  usually  kept  him  com- 
pany; he  sat  and  talked  with  his  mother  and  grand- 
mother in  the  rooms  they  occupied.  It  was  of  the  es- 
sence of  this  room  that  he  could  be  alone  in  it  when  he 
wanted  to  be  alone,  which  was  not  very  often,  for  he  was 
no  recluse.  If  the  elders  had  made  themselves  free  of 
entrance  to  it,  its  charms  for  him  would  have  gone ;  but 
Lady  Brent  had  said  that  it  was  to  be  his  only,  without 
his  having  asked  more  than  that  he  should  be  allowed  to 
have  what  he  wanted  in  it.  "  It's  right  that  he  should 
be  able  to  get  away  from  us  sometimes,  indoors  as  well 
as  out,"  she  had  said  to  Mrs.  Brent.  "  He's  not  to  feel 
himself  chained  to  our  society." 

Harry  stood  at  the  window,  looking  out  not  upon  the 
courts  and  gardens,  laid  out  beneath  him,  but  across  the 
trees  to  where  the  sea  was,  if  he  could  have  seen  it  for 
the  mist.  It  was  holiday  time  with  him.  He  had  come 
up  here  after  luncheon  thinking  to  make  out  the  treasure 
island  map  that  he  had  promised  to  Jane  and  Pobbles 
before  they  had  gone  away  to  the  seaside.  This  was 
part  of  a  game  they  had  invented,  sitting  in  their  log 
cabin  one  wet  afternoon.  Harry  was  by  no  means  above 
games  that  were  no  more  than  games,  though  he  was 


102  SIRHARRY 

too  old  to  turn  reality  into  a  game,  and  this  was  a  fas- 
cinating one  that  they  had  hit  upon  together — the  de- 
signing of  the  ideal  island  upon  which  the  vicissitudes  of 
life  might  one  day  cause  them  all  to  be  wrecked.  They 
had  contributed  its  features,  one  by  one — sandy  beaches, 
and  coral  pools  to  bathe  in ;  bread-fruit  and  grapes  and 
oranges ;  a  great  hollow  tree  halfway  up  a  mountain  that 
they  could  make  into  a  house,  as  was  done  by  that 
didactic  but  resourceful  Swiss  of  the  name  of  Robinson ; 
a  hidden  hoard  of  treasure  which  would  include  gold 
cups  and  plates  and  dishes  for  domestic  use ;  a  spring 
of  miraculously  clear  water,  discovered  just  when  they 
were  dying  of  thirst,  and  slightly  flavoured  with  pine- 
apple (this  was  Pobbles's  idea);  a  hut  in  which  a 
marooned  sailor  had  left  behind  him  every  sort  of  tool 
that  could  come  in  handy,  he  himself  having  been  taken 
off  the  island,  on  Jane's  suggestion,  so  as  to  avoid  the 
nuisance  of  a  skeleton :  these  were  a  few  of  the  amenities 
that  were  to  be  found  on  this  accommodating  island,  and 
they  were  increased  every  time  the  subject  came  up  for 
discussion.  Harry  had  promised  to  draw  a  map  for 
them,  including  the  already  settled  geographical  fea- 
tures, and  adding  any  others  that  might  occur  to  him 
in  the  meantime.  He  had  drawn  the  outline  of  the  island 
on  a  handsome  scale,  and  inked  it  in  carefully.  Then 
he  had  got  tired  of  it.  The  eager  pleasure  of  the  chil- 
dren was  wanted  to  give  salt  to  this  game.  He  could 
not  employ  himself  for  a  whole  afternoon  over  it. 

He  missed  those  little  friends  of  his,  especially  Jane, 
with  her  quick  ways  and  eager  loyalty,  which  made  her 


AUGUST  103 

so  companionable,  though  never  tiresomely  clinging,  as 
is  the  way  with  admiring  children.  He  had  not  known 
how  much  they  had  come  to  mean  to  him  during  this 
last  year  in  which  they  had  been  his  Constant  com- 
panions, until  they  had  gone  away  and  he  had  been  left 
to  the  society  of  his  elders.  Between  him  and  Wil- 
braham,  especially,  there  was  some  community  of  taste. 
He  owed  a  good  deal  of  his  love  of  fine  literature  to 
Wilbraham,  and  there  was  much  that  he  could  share  with 
him  that  was  beyond  the  understanding  of  the  children. 
They  were  only  children,  and  he  had  told  them  none  of 
his  secret  thoughts.  Jane  was  very  quick  of  under- 
standing, and  had  developed  considerably  during  the 
year  he  had  known  her;  perhaps  he  might  have  come  to 
confide  some  of  them  to  her  if  they  had  ever  been  alone 
together.  But  Pobbles  was  her  inseparable  shadow,  and 
he  had  never  wanted  it  otherwise.  With  all  their  im- 
maturity, they  appealed  to  the  spirit  of  youth  in  him, 
and  their  companionship  gave  him  something  that  he 
could  not  get  from  his  elders.  That  was  why  he  missed 
them  so  much  on  this  wild  wet  afternoon,  when  he  was 
debarred  from  his  usual  pursuits  out  of  doors,  and  there 
seemed  to  be  nothing  worth  doing  indoors.  And  yet  it 
was  not  them  so  much  that  he  missed — though  he  did 
not  know  it — as  the  companionship  and  inspiration  of 
answering  youth.  Perhaps  they  had  had  something  to 
do  with  arousing  the  need  of  it  in  him,  but  they  were  too 
young  to  satisfy  it.  He  had  been  supremely  happy  in 
his  childhood  and  youth — far  more  consistently  happy 
than  most  boys  of  his  age,  and  happier  than  he  con- 


104  SIRHARRY 

sciously  knew.  But  the  time  for  that  life  was  coming 
to  an  end;  unless  some  change  came  to  him  he  would 
gain  less  and  less  contentment  from  it  as  he  grew  older. 

He  had  not  yet  grasped  the  magnitude  of  the  change 
that  was  even  then  all  around  him,  and  would  soon  draw 
him,  as  an  atom  in  the  whole  sensitive  world,  into  its 
vortex. 

For  the  great  war  had  begun.  As  Harry  stood  at 
the  window,  the  German  hordes  were  over-running  Bel- 
gium and  France,  England  was  hurrying  feverishly  into 
the  breach,  throughout  the  length  and  breadth  of  the 
country  nothing  else  was  talked  of  but  the  war;  only 
here  and  there  in  some  remote  place  the  menace  of 
the  great  conflagration  was  unheeded  as  yet;  but  very 
soon  there  would  be  no  place  where  its  weight  did  not 
fall. 

It  was  talked  of  at  the  Castle.  Wilbraham  already 
had  his  maps  up  in  the  library,  and  his  little  flags  to 
stick  into  them.  He  and  Lady  Brent  disputed  about 
it  over  the  table.  Wilbraham  thought  it  would  all  be 
over,  and  the  Germans  taught  their  sharp  lesson,  in  a 
few  weeks.  Lady  Brent,  remembering  similar  prophecies 
about  an  immeasurably  less  formidable  enemy  fifteen 
years  before,  thought  it  would  be  longer.  It  might  take 
a  whole  year  to  bring  it  to  an  end.  Longer  it  could  not 
take,  because  all  Europe  would  be  bankrupt  if  it  did. 
They  argued  quite  impersonally.  They  would  not  be 
touched  by  it  themselves. 

Harry  had  not  caught  fire  over  it  yet.  His  life  had 
been  quite  divorced  from  anything  that  went  on  in  the 


AUGUST  105 

world  outside  Royd,  except  in  what  he  had  learnt  from 
books.  Neither  home  nor  foreign  politics  meant  any- 
thing to  him,  and  he  never  looked  at  a  newspaper,  except 
in  idle  moments.  His  one  regret  was  that  the  war  would 
be  over  before  he  should  gain  his  commission,  in  two  or 
three  years'  time.  That  seemed  to  be  agreed  upon.  At 
present  there  were  no  individual  deeds  to  excite  his 
imagination.  He  took  but  a  languid  interest  in  it  as 
yet,  though  every  day  there  seemed  to  be  some  increase 
in  its  importance.  This  afternoon  it  weighed  a  little 
on  him,  with  all  the  rest,  but  a  break  in  the  clouds  would 
have  set  his  mind  free  of  it,  and  for  the  moment  of 
every  other  vaguely  felt  dissatisfaction. 

There  was  no  sign  of  any  break  in  the  heavy  clouds, 
but  some  weather  sense  which  he  had  acquired  in  his 
open-air  life  gave  him  the  feeling  that  the  storm  was 
nearing  its  end.  At  any  rate,  he  must  go  out,  whether 
it  cleared  or  not.  He  was  getting  mopy,  shut  up  in  the 
house.  He  knew  by  experience  that  that  rare  feeling 
never  persisted  when  he  was  once  out  of  doors. 

A  furious  gust  drove  the  rain  against  the  windows 
and  blotted  out  all  the  landscape  as  he  turned  to  leave 
the  room ;  but  he  felt  better  already  for  his  decision. 
He  would  go  for  a  gallop  towards  the  sea.  It  would  be 
invigorating  to  have  the  rain  and  the  wind  in  his  face, 
and  perhaps  the  storm  would  be  over  by  the  time  he 
reached  the  shore.  It  would  be  grand  to  see  the  sun 
break  over  the  waves,  and  watch  them  dashing  them- 
selves against  the  rocks. 

He  put  on  his  oldest  breeches  and  gaiters  and  a  rid- 


106  SIR   HARRY 

ing  raincoat  and  went  out  to  the  stables.  He  told  no 
one  that  he  was  going  out,  wanting  to  escape  dissuasion 
from  his  mother  and  grandmother  in  the  drawing-room, 
and  Wilbraham  in  the  library.  They  let  him  take  his 
way  in  these  matters,  but  it  was  not  to  be  expected  from 
middle-aged  human  nature  that  he  would  be  allowed  to 
go  out  in  this  weather  without  some  remonstrance. 

He  had  two  horses  of  his  own,  Clive,  a  bay,  and  Circe, 
a  black  blood  mare,  and  his  own  groom,  Fred  Armour, 
the  head  coachman's  son,  who  was  only  a  year  older  than 
himself,  and  a  friend  of  his  lifetime.  Ben,  his  big  black 
retriever,  who  followed  him  everywhere,  had  already  ex- 
pressed his  delighted  agreement  with  the  sensible  course 
he  had  shown  himself  about  to  take.  He  knew  he  was 
admitted  to  the  house  on  condition  that  he  did  not  raise 
his  voice  in  it,  and  beyond  a  few  subdued  yaps  of  appre- 
ciation he  had  followed  Harry  downstairs  with  no  more 
than  ecstatic  wrigglings  and  sweeps  of  his  feathered  tail. 
But,  once  outside,  his  enthusiasm  broke  loose  and 
brought  on  the  scene  other  members  of  his  race  at  a  loose 
end  for  something  to  do.  There  was  a  terrific  canine 
commotion  as  Harry  called  for  Fred,  and  the  first  thing 
to  be  done  was  to  bring  disappointment  to  all  but  Siren, 
a  deer  hound,  and  Rollo,  a  Great  Dane,  by  shutting 
them  up  again.  The  three  bigger  dogs  could  keep  up 
with  Circe,  galloping  freely;  the  others  must  reserve 
themselves  for  expeditions  when  the  blood  was  less  in- 
sistent on  rapid  motion. 

Fred  Armour,  a  cheerful  brown-faced  red-headed 
young  man,  neat  and  active  in  his  stable  kit,  seemed  also 


AUGUST  107 

to  have  been  affected  by  the  dismal  weather,  for  he  did 
what  was  required  of  him  without  his  usual  grin  or  ready 
flow  of  words.  It  was  not  until  he  had  saddled  and 
bridled  Circe  and  brought  her  out  that  he  said :  "  I'm 
off  to-morrow,  Sir  Harry.  Father's  said  yes,  and  her 
ladyship  has  given  her  consent,  though  she  don't  like  it." 

Harry  stared  at  him,  holding  the  mare,  who  was  danc- 
ing with  impatience.  He  understood  nothing  until  Fred 
told  him  that  he  was  joining  up  with  the  County  Yeo- 
manry— the  first  man  on  the  Royd  estate  to  go,  or,  as 
it  seemed  afterwards,  to  think  of  going.  The  time  had 
not  yet  come  when  the  call  for  recruits  penetrated  the 
out-of-the-way  corners  of  England.  Harry  was  sur- 
prised, as  his  grandmother  had  apparently  been,  that 
Fred  should  have  thought  of  going.  But  his  impulse  was 
one  of  envy  when  he  was  told  about  it,  not  of  dissuasion. 
"  I'm  nearly  as  old  as  you,"  he  said,  "  but  it  will  take 
me  a  couple  of  years  to  get  my  commission.  It  will  all 
be  over  by  then." 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  so,"  said  Fred.  "  But  there's  a  lot 
to  be  trained,  in  case  they  want  them.  I  shall  come 
back  when  they've  done  with  me.  Her  ladyship  says  I 
can,  though  she's  upset  like  at  my  wanting  to  go." 

Harry  had  something  to  think  about  as  he  rode  out 
into  the  park,  and  after  a  sharp  canter  over  the 
drenched  grass,  with  the  rain  and  the  wind  fretting  the 
mare  so  that  it  was  all  he  could  do  to  hold  her,  slowed 
to  a  trot  as  he  entered  a  ride  through  the  woods.  It  was 
not  so  much  of  the  war.  Fred  would  have  a  few  months 
of  training  as  a  trooper,  and  then  he  would  probably 


108  SIR    HARRY 

come  back;  he  was  not,  after  all,  greatly  to  be  envied 
there,  and  Harry  had  no  particular  wish  to  hurry  on 
his  own  longer  training,  since  the  time  was  so  far  dis- 
tant when  he  could  expect  to  get  his  commission.  But 
Fred  had  told  him  of  others  who  were  likely  to  follow  his 
example  now  that  the  ice  had  once  been  broken — another 
lad  from  the  stables,  two  from  the  gardens,  some  from 
the  village.  A  cousin  of  his,  from  some  distance  off, 
who  had  already  served  in  the  Yeomanry,  had  joined  a 
regular  cavalry  regiment,  and  was  already  in  France, 
fighting.  It  was  from  him  that  the  impulsion  had  first 
come. 

It  was  a  fine  thing  to  respond  like  that  to  your  coun- 
try's call,  almost  before  it  was  sounded.  It  was  what 
Harry's  own  forefathers  would  have  done,  and  had  done 
in  many  an  instance  that  he  had  read  about  in  old  books 
in  which  he  had  pored  to  find  out  what  he  could  about 
the  knightly  stock  from  which  he  had  sprung.  They 
would  have  collected  their  servants  and  tenants  around 
them  and  ridden  off  at  their  head  to  offer  themselves — 
a  small  band,  perhaps,  but  a  sturdy  one,  well  horsed  and 
equipped  and  well  versed  in  the  man's  business  of  giving 
and  receiving  blows.  It  could  not  be  quite  like  that  in 
this  war,  when  boys  of  his  age,  even  if  capable  of  raising 
their  followers,  would  have  to  go  through  the  mill  of 
learning  and  training  before  they  could  be  of  any  use. 
But  the  readiness  with  which  Fred's  cousin  had  been 
accepted  and  sent  out  to  fight  disturbed  him  somewhat, 
both  on  his  own  account  and  on  that  of  the  men  and 
youths  who  owed  him  allegiance.  There  was  nobody  in 


AUGUST  109 

the  village  of  Royd  or  on  all  the  wide  Castle  lands,  so  far 
as  he  knew,  who  had  done  any  of  the  soldiering  that  is 
open  to  young  men  in  times  of  peace.  Supposing  he 
himself  had  been  of  full  age  to  fight,  he  would  still  have 
had  to  wait  until  he  had  learnt  his  business,  and  he  could 
have  given  a  lead  to  nobody.  Why  hadn't  it  been  sug- 
gested to  him  that  he  should  join  the  County  Yeomanry, 
or  why  had  he  not  thought  of  it  himself?  The  Sir  Harry 
of  the  time  of  the  Napoleonic  wars  had  been  in  command 
of  it ;  almost  every  man  of  his  tenantry  had  belonged  to 
it.  Now  it  drew  its  recruits  from  other  parts  of  the 
county ;  no  one  from  Royd  had  served  in  it  for  a  genera- 
tion or  more.  It  had  never  occurred  to  him  that  it  would 
be  a  good  thing  for  him  in  his  position  to  do  so. 

Royd  was  ruled  by  a  woman.  That  was  the  explana- 
tion of  this  lapse  in  its  ancient  duties  and  responsibili- 
ties, now  for  the  first  time  apparent.  And  he  was 
ruled  by  a  woman,  though  the  yoke  had  hitherto  been 
but  lightly  felt.  Fred  Armour  could  go  off,  though  not 
without  having  some  opposition  to  encounter;  others 
could  talk  of  doing  so.  He  must  stay  where  he  was  until 
the  appointed  time. 

Well,  the  time  was  not  far  distant  now.  In  January 
he  would  go  up  for  his  examination,  and  after  that  the 
new  life  would  begin  for  him — the  man's  life,  in  which, 
though  still  under  tutelage,  he  would  be  free  at  times  to 
go  where  he  would.  He  had  rather  dreaded  exchanging 
his  life  at  Royd  for  it,  for  that  had  been  a  life  full  of 
the  satisfaction  of  all  the  desires  he  had  felt,  and  it  had 
never  seemed  to  him  either  narrow  or  confined.  But  this 


110  SIR   HARRY 

sense  of  a  woman's  domination  was  beginning  to  prick 
him.  He  thought  that  at  least  he  would  put  it  to  his 
grandmother  that  Royd  ought  to  have  been  represented 
in  the  Yeomanry.  It  might  have  been  a  small  matter,  in 
times  of  peace,  but  it  was  one  that  would  not  have 
escaped  a  male  head  of  Royd.  And  he  must  see  to  it 
himself  that  any  man  who  wanted  to  join  up  with  the 
troops  in  training  should  have  no  difficulty  put  in  his 
way.  As  for  himself,  there  seemed  to  be  nothing  to  be 
done  but  to  wait  until  his  time  came.  Fred  might,  per- 
haps, see  some  fighting,  if  Lady  Brent  were  right  and 
Wilbraham  were  wrong  about  the  war  lasting  on  into 
the  next  year;  that  was  the  advantage  of  belonging  to 
the  ranks.  For  officers,  the  training  must  be  much 
longer,  and  his  would  not  be  finished  if  the  war  lasted 
for  two  years,  which  it  seemed  to  be  agreed  was  an  im- 
possibility. 

He  shook  his  thoughts  from  him  as  he  came  out  of  the 
wood  and  galloped  again  on  the  crisp  turf  of  the  hilltop, 
between  the  gorse  and  the  heather  and  the  outcropping 
rocks. 

He  was  on  high  ground  here.  The  rain  had  ceased, 
though  the  wind  was  buffeting  him  so  furiously  that  he 
had  to  keep  his  head  down  as  he  rode,  and  even  the  mare 
was  soon  submissive  to  being  pulled  down  to  a  trot  and 
then  to  a  walk.  The  light  was  stronger  now  and  the 
clouds  driven  along  by  the  wind  seemed  to  be  higher; 
there  was  no  sign  of  a  break  in  them,  but  there  was  the 
feeling  that  at  any  time  they  might  be  rent  asunder  and 
let  through  a  shaft  of  sunlight.  The  mist  had  all  gone, 


AUGUST  111 

and  the  sea  lay,  a  grey,  turbulent  expanse,  apparently 
near  at  hand,  though  at  its  nearest  point  it  was  still 
some  two  miles  distant. 

The  sight  of  the  sea  always  had  a  calming  effect  upon 
Harry,  whether  it  lay  blue  and  calm  or  was  lashed  to 
angry  motion.  It  was  his  outlook  into  the  world  beyond 
the  bounds  of  his  home.  When  he  had  least  felt  him- 
self circumscribed  something  had  yet  urged  him  now  and 
then  to  ride  to  the  shore  and  to  let  his  spirit  go  out 
across  the  boundless  waters.  And  now,  as  he  saw  the 
great  spaces  of  sea  and  sky  in  front  of  him  his  thoughts 
lightened.  As  his  physical  world  had  this  wide  outlet 
into  the  greater  world  beyond  it,  so  his  life,  bound 
hitherto  within  limits  that  he  was  outgrowing,  would 
soon  open  into  something  wider  and  freer.  And  just  as 
he  would  return  to  the  sheltered  haunts  of  his  home, 
loving  it  all  the  more  for  his  glimpse  of  the  unsheltered 
sea,  so  with  the  life  which  had  been  so  happy  there.  It 
was  coming  to  an  end  for  him,  but  was  all  the  more  to 
be  treasured  on  that  account  as  long  as  it  lasted. 

He  came  to  a  break  in  the  rocky  cliff  which  led  down 
to  a  little  sandy  bay,  on  the  edge  of  which  was  what  had 
once  been  a  fisherman's  cottage.  The  cliff  had  broken 
away  in  front  of  it  and  it  had  been  abandoned  as  dan- 
gerous some  years  before.  Only  its  walls  were  standing, 
but  there  was  a  place  among  the  ruins  in  which  he  could 
tie  up  his  horse  if  he  wanted  to  walk  by  the  sea.  He 
did  so  now,  and  went  down  to  the  sands,  followed  by  the 
dogs.  The  sun  came  out  as  he  did  so,  and  great  masses 
of  clouds  were  torn  asunder  and  piled  up  to  be  rolled 


112  SIRHARRY 

away  before  the  wind,  instead  of  forming  a  thick  curtain 
between  him  and  the  sky. 

He  shouted  for  joy  at  the  lifting  of  the  grey  oppres- 
sion, and  became  a  boy  again  as  by  a  sudden  impulse 
he  stripped  to  bathe  and  ran  over  the  sands  to  meet  the 
shock  of  the  great  waves  that  were  rolling  up  them. 


CHAPTER  IX 

ON  THE  MOOR 

As  he  rode  towards  home  an  hour  or  two  later,  Harry 
felt  as  if  all  the  stains  upon  life  had  been  washed  away, 
just  as  the  wind  and  rain  had  scoured  the  heavens  of 
their  dark  load  of  cloud.  The  sun,  now  declining 
towards  the  west,  shone  in  a  sky  of  clean  blue ;  the  wind 
was  dropping  every  minute,  but  was  still  fresh  as  he 
cantered  across  the  moor.  He  rode  with  his  head  up, 
singing  blithely,  and  drinking  in  through  all  his  senses 
the  sparkling  glory  of  a  world  set  free  from  the  tyranny 
of  storm  and  gloom. 

He  had  thought  out  nothing  to  a  definite  conclusion, 
and  yet  the  perplexities  which  had  surrounded  him  as 
he  started  out  on  his  ride  seemed  to  have  disappeared. 
The  war,  which  had  affected  him  so  little,  now  lay  in  the 
background  of  his  mind  as  a  real  and  a  very  big  thing, 
and  it  seemed  to  him  fixed  and  certain  that  somehow 
and  at  some  time  it  would  profoundly  affect  his  life; 
but  at  present  he  had  nothing  to  do  but  to  await  what 
should  be  coming  to  him.  His  place  at  Royd  must  also 
undergo  a  change,  and  that,  too,  would  come,  in  its  time, 
as  it  would  come.  Whatever  should  happen,  he  was 
ready  for  it,  and  his  mind  was  free  and  happy,  but  also 
strangely  expectant.  He  was  in  the  current  of  some 

113 


114  SIR   HARRY 

power  outside  himself,  but  in  complete  harmony  with  it, 
and  at  the  same  time  in  free  possession  of  himself,  just 
as  he  had  lately  exulted  in  his  youth  and  strength  as  his 
body  had  been  borne  on  the  motion  of  the  mighty  waters. 
Ever  since  that  night  of  still  and  unearthly  beauty, 
when  the  vision  had  come  to  him  of  a  living  power  in 
nature  for  a  sign  of  which  he  had  yearned,  he  had 
thought  of  himself  as  controlled  by  strong  yet  gentle 
and  beneficent  forces,  which,  if  he  yielded  himself  to 
them,  would  lead  him  along  paths  that  he  would  best 
fulfil  himself  in  treading.  The  feeling  was  stronger  at 
some  times  than  others.  It  had  never  been  so  obscured 
as  it  had  been  a  few  hours  earlier,  but  now,  in  the  sun 
and  the  wind,  it  was  very  strong.  He  felt  himself  calmed 
and  uplifted  in  spirit,  as  if  by  a  tangible  communion 
with  the  guiding  influences.  They  seemed  to  be  telling 
him,  or  to  have  told  him,  that  his  shadowed  mood  need 
never  have  been ;  that  they  had  something  in  store  for 
him,  some  experience,  some  happening,  which  would  give 
him  renewed  faith  in  their  guidance.  There  was  a  sense 
almost  of  being  indulged,  by  an  assurance  out  of  the 
common  run. 

But  his  mood  was  as  far  as  possible  from  being  ana- 
lytical, as  he  rode  on  singing  and  calling  to  his  dogs, 
which  sprang  round  him  rejoicing  as  he  did  in  the  exhila- 
ration of  quick  motion  and  the  strength  and  poise  of 
muscle  and  sinew.  His  mind  had  cleared,  and  he  was 
free  to  give  himself  up  to  the  joy  of  living,  all  the  more 
keenly  for  the  whisper  that  had  come  to  him  of  some- 
thing new  and  exciting  in  preparation  for  him. 


ONTHEMOOR  115 

The  boy,  the  horse  and  the  dogs — they  had  had  the 
fine,  fresh  world  to  themselves  throughout  the  afternoon, 
except  for  the  strong  birds  of  the  sea  and  the  little 
birds  of  the  gorsy  common.  No  buildings  lay  upon  the 
path  that  Harry  had  taken  to  the  shore,  nor  very  near 
it,  for  he  had  ridden  through  the  wood  by  a  narrow  ride, 
little  used,  and  across  the  open  ground  had  kept  out  of 
the  way  of  trodden  paths.  There  were  sheep  on  this 
wide  stretch  of  upland,  and  a  shepherd  might  occasion- 
ally have  been  seen  there.  Otherwise  it  was  little  fre- 
quented ;  a  human  figure  on  it  would  arouse  curiosity. 

A  human  figure  came  into  view  as  Harry  had  trav- 
ersed the  greater  part  of  the  open  space,  and  the  woods 
of  Royd  were  a  mile  or  so  in  front  of  him.  It  was  the 
figure  of  a  woman,  and  was  immediately  between  him 
and  the  point  towards  which  he  was  riding.  He  knew 
all  the  people  who  lived  in  the  scattered  cottages  and 
farms  between  Royd  and  the  sea ;  there  were  not  many 
of  them,  and  none  just  here.  He  wondered  who  it  could 
be  going  in  that  direction,  and  what  she  was  doing  so 
far  away  from  human  habitation. 

As  he  rode  on,  he  saw  that  it  was  a  girl,  and  a 
stranger,  which  was  somewhat  surprising,  as  the  nearest 
place  to  which  strangers  came  was  miles  away.  He  had 
left  off  singing,  but  one  of  the  dogs  barked,  and  the  girl 
turned  round,  evidently  startled  and  perhaps  a  little 
alarmed.  He  was  near  enough  now  to  see  her  face.  She 
was  very  young,  hardly  more  than  a  child,  for  her  hair 
was  not  knotted  up  under  her  hat,  but  tied  behind  with 
a  big  bow.  She  was  tall  and  slim.  The  wind  took  her 


116  SIR   HARRY 

skirts  as  she  stood  there,  and  revealed  the  supple  grace 
of  her  young  figure,  firmly  but  lightly  poised  against  it. 
She  was  dressed  in  a  coat  and  skirt  of  brown  tweed,  with 
a  hat  of  soft  straw  firmly  pinned  on  to  her  graceful 
head.  So  much  Harry  took  in  before  he  came  near 
enough  to  see  her  face. 

Her  features  were  fine  and  true,  and  she  had  a  delicate 
skin,  its  colour  freshened  by  the  wind.  Her  eyes  were 
dark,  with  a  starry  radiance  in  them ;  her  lips  were 
slightly  parted  as  she  looked  at  him  approaching.  She 
was  beautiful,  with  the  beauty  half  of  a  child,  half  of  a 
woman.  , 

Harry  reined  in  his  horse  as  he  came  up  to  her,  and 
for  an  appreciable  instant  they  looked  into  one  another's 
eyes  without  speaking.  Then  the  girl  said :  "  I  have 
lost  my  way.  I  don't  know  where  I'm  going  to,"  and 
laughed  and  blushed  at  the  same  time. 

Harry  laughed,  too,  and  slipped  down  off  his  horse. 
"  Where  do  you  want  to  go?  "  he  asked.  "  I'll  show  you 
the  way,  if  you  tell  me." 

She  was  staying  with  her  father,  she  said,  at  a  cottage 
on  the  edge  of  the  woods ;  she  had  come  out  when  the 
rain  had  ceased  to  walk  towards  the  sea,  but  it  was  far- 
ther than  she  had  thought,  and  when  she  had  turned 
back  to  see  the  unbroken  line  of  the  woods  before  her 
there  was  nothing  to  tell  her  which  point  to  make 
for. 

The  woman  with  whom  she  was  lodging  was  the  widow 
of  a  man  who  had  worked  in  the  Royd  woods ;  he  had 
died  the  year  before  and  she  had  been  given  a  pension 


ON    THE    MOOR  117 

and  allowed  to  remain  on  in  her  cottage.  It  was  in  a 
group  of  three  or  four,  about  a  mile  from  the  Castle 
and  a  mile  and  a  half  from  the  village,  which  formed  the 
nearest  approach  to  an  outlying  hamlet  that  was  to  be 
found  on  the  Royd  lands.  It  was  rather  surprising  that 
anybody  should  take  lodgings  there,  though  with  the 
deep  woods  behind  it  and  the  moor  in  front,  and  the  sea 
within  view,  many  people  might  have  chosen  it  to  make 
holiday  in,  if  it  had  come  within  their  knowledge. 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Ivimey,"  said  Harry,  pointing.  "  That's 
a  mile  and  more  away  over  there.  I'm  afraid  you  can't 
have  much  sense  of  direction." 

They  both  laughed  at  that.  It  seemed  the  most 
natural  thing  for  them  to  talk  and  laugh  together.  The 
secluded  life  that  Harry  had  lived  had  brought  some 
shyness  into  the  way  he  addressed  himself  to  strangers, 
though  his  natural  manner  was  free  and  open.  But  this 
girl,  walking  freely  over  the  windy  moor,  seemed  to  be 
in  some  way  allied  to  those  living  influences  of  nature 
with  which  his  contact  was  so  real.  And  the  spirit  of 
youth  informed  all  her  looks  and  her  ways  and  met  the 
answering  youth  in  him.  There  was  no  room  for  shyness 
in  speaking  to  her,  and  as  he  neither  felt  nor  showed  it, 
her  response  was  frank,  too.  "  I'm  a  Londoner,"  she 
said.  "  You  couldn't  expect  me  to  find  my  way  about 
here,  where  the  paths  wind  about  anyhow,  and  every- 
thing is  the  same." 

He  was  walking  beside  her  now  in  the  direction  he 
had  pointed  out.  He  had  made  no  offer  to  accompany 
her  and  she  made  no  comment  upon  his  doing  so.  It 


118  SIRHARRY 

seemed  that  they  must  have  a  great  deal  to  say  to  one 
another  and  that  the  best  way  was  to  walk  together 
until  some  of  it  at  least  should  have  been  said. 

"  Everything  the  same !  "  exclaimed  Harry.  "  Why, 
every  inch  of  it  is  different !  I  have  never  been  to  Lon- 
don, but  the  streets  of  a  town  must  be  much  more  alike 
than  this  is." 

They  laughed  again  at  that,  and  the  girl  threw  a 
glance  at  him,  walking  by  her  side,  while  Circe,  held  by 
his  strong  brown  hand,  curveted  on  the  close  turf  and 
the  dogs  ranged  here  and  there,  a  little  subdued  from 
their  bounding  energy,  but  still  keenly  interested  in  all 
that  lay  about  them.  The  raindrops  sparkled  still  upon 
gorse  and  grass  and  bramble,  larks  sang  in  the  clear 
spaces  of  the  sky,  and  the  dying  wind  brought  a  salty 
thymy  fragrance  with  it.  The  blood  in  the  veins  thrilled 
to  the  sweet  glad  freshness  of  it  all,  and  youth  called  to 
youth  as  they  trod  the  springy  turf  together. 

There  was  such  a  lot  to  be  explained.  Everything 
that  was  said  opened  up  endless  more  things  to  be  said. 
He  told  her  that  he  had  lived  all  his  life  at  Royd;  she 
told  him  that  she  had  seldom  been  away  from  London. 
But,  whereas  he  showed  himself  quite  content  with  the 
unusual  limitations  of  his  life,  she  spoke  of  hers  with 
regret.  "  I've  always  wanted  the  country,"  she  said ; 
"  I've  never  been  so  happy  as  I  have  been  here,  for  the 
last  two  days.  Even  the  storm  this  morning,  I  didn't 
mind.  It  was  something  big  and  grand,  and  I  knew  the 
sun  would  shine  and  it  would  all  be  lovely  again." 

They  talked  on  and  on.     They  had  made  friends,  as 


ONTHEMOOR  119 

children  make  friends,  liking  each  other,  and  pouring 
themselves  out  in  endless  little  confidences. 

"  My  name  is  Harry  Brent.  I  live  at  Royd  Castle 
with  my  mother  and  grandmother." 

"  Oh  yes,  of  course ;  you're  Sir  Harry  Brent.  Mrs. 
Ivimey  has  talked  about  you. 

"  My  name  is  Viola  Bastian.  My  father  called  me 
that  out  of  a  beautiful  poem.  He  is  an  artist,  but  no- 
body buys  his  pictures,  so  he  paints  scenery  at  a  theatre. 
We  are  very  poor." 

It  didn't  seem  odd  to  Harry  that  this  beautiful  girl, 
whose  speech  was  refined  and  whose  clothes  were  such  as 
a  sister  or  cousin  of  his  own  might  have  worn,  should  be 
the  daughter  of  a  scene  painter,  who  was  also  very  poor. 
Nor  did  he  blench  in  the  least  at  a  further  statement, 
which  explained,  at  least,  the  clothes.  "  I  have  to  work 
and  help  father.  He  didn't  want  me  to  go  on  the  stage, 
and  I  should  have  hated  it,  too.  I  am  with  a  dressmaker 
in  Dover  Street — Nadine.  She  makes  things  chiefly  for 
quite  young  girls.  I  have  to  show  them  off.  It  is  hard 
work  in  the  season,  but  I  get  a  good  long  holiday,  and 
if  father  can  get  away  too,  and  we  have  enough  money, 
we  go  into  the  country  for  part  of  it.  That  is  why  we 
are  here  now." 

It  was  all  very  interesting,  as  anything  she  might  have 
told  him  about  herself  would  have  been  interesting.  He 
knew  nothing  of  states  of  life  other  than  those  which 
were  immediately  around  him ;  he  accepted  everything 
she  told  him  as  quite  natural  to  her,  though  he  thought 
it  a  pity  that  she  should  have  to  work  so  hard  and  could 


120  SIRHARRY 

not  live  in  the  country,  as  he  did,  since  she  loved  it. 
She  was  what  he  saw  and  heard  her  to  be,  and  what  she 
did  and  where  she  lived  was  quite  unimportant,  except 
as  she  might  feel  them  to  be  important. 

But  how  did  she  come  to  be  what  she  was  under  such 
conditions  of  parentage  and  environment?  If  it  did  not 
occur  to  Harry  in  his  all-embracing  ignorance  to  ask 
himself  that  question,  it  might  very  well  have  been  asked 
by  others  with  more  experience  of  life  than  his.  She  was 
as  frank  in  her  address  as  he  was,  showed  no  sense  of 
the  social  difference  between  them  in  any  mauvaise  honte 
or  explanatory  questions.  It  must  have  made  itself 
plain  to  a  listener  that  she  was  indeed  a  rare  flower  of 
unsullied  girlhood,  as  innocent  in  essence  as  Harry  him- 
self, who  had  been  kept  from  contact  with  the  world 
outside  his  castle  of  romance,  since  she  had  lived  at  its 
crowded  centre  and  remained  unspotted  by  it. 

They  had  not  half  finished  their  confidences  by  the 
time  they  came  within  sight  of  the  cottage  at  which  she 
was  staying — or,  rather,  of  the  smoke  from  its  chimney, 
which  rose  from  behind  a  corner  of  the  wood  jutting  out 
into  the  moor.  Perhaps  it  was  some  acquired  sophisti- 
cation that  caused  her  to  stop  there  and  to  prepare  to 
say  good-bye,  out  of  sight  of  the  cottage  itself  and  who- 
ever might  see  them  from  it.  But,  whatever  it  was, 
Harry  felt  the  same  disinclination  to  being  looked  upon 
by  eyes  that  might  have  been  questioning  or  curious. 
She  was  for  him  alone — one  of  his  cherished  innocent 
secrets — all  the  more  to  be  kept  to  himself  because  it 
was  like  no  other  secret  that  he  had  ever  had  before.  A 


ON    THE    MOOR  121 

secret  must  be  shared  by  some  one,  or  it  is  no  secret, 
but  only  a  deception.  Harry's  secret  had  been  between 
him  and  nature,  or  between  him  and  an  imaginary  Harry 
who  owed  all  initiative  to  the  real  Harry.  But  this  was 
his  and  hers,  and  hers  as  much  as  his.  She  could  keep  it 
a  warm  nestling  secret,  or  destroy  it  by  a  word.  Which 
would  she  do? 

"  Good-bye,"  she  said,  holding  out  her  slender  girl's 
hand,  and  looking  him  straight  in  the  eyes,  as  she  had 
looked  at  him  when  first  they  had  met.  He  took  her 
hand,  and  the  touch  of  it  thrilled  him.  It  was  soft  and 
firm  and  cool,  like  no  hand  that  he  had  ever  had  in  his, 
though  he  had  taken  the  hands  of  other  girls  not  notice- 
ably different  in  shape  or  size  from  this  one. 

There  was  the  hint  of  a  question  in  her  look.  Was  it 
to  be  good-bye? 

Harry  had  no  such  thought.  "  There  is  a  lot  I  want 
to  talk  to  you  about,"  he  said.  "  Tomorrow  afternoon 
— no,  I  don't  want  to  wait  till  the  afternoon — tomorrow 
morning  I  will  come ;  quite  early." 

Her  eyes  softened,  and  she  smiled.  "  Very  well,"  she 
said,  and  waited  for  him  to  tell  her  where  and  when  he 
would  come. 

They  were  to  meet  on  the  outskirts  of  the  wood.  He 
would  show  her  a  ferny  pool  in  the  very  heart  of  it, 
which  he  thought  nobody  but  himself  knew  of.  "  It  will 
be  very  hot  to-morrow,"  he  said,  throwing  a  weatherwise 
eye  at  the  heavens.  "  We  shall  be  cool  and  quiet  there." 

Suddenly  he  felt  shy  of  her,  mounted  his  horse,  and 
cantered  away,  his  dogs  following  him.  Then  he  felt 


122  SIR   HARRY 

uneasy  at  the  thought  that  she  inight  have  found  him 
rudely  abrupt,  and  when  he  had  gone  a  few  hundred 
yards  he  turned  to  look  back.  She  was  still  standing 
where  he  had  left  her,  and  waved  her  hand  to  him. 

He  had  the  impulse  to  turn  and  ride  back  to  her,  but 
cantered  on,  with  a  flame  of  joy  shooting  up  in  his  heart. 
When  he  looked  back  again,  she  had  gone. 


CHAPTER   X 

VIOLA 

THAT  evening  at  dinner  all  the  talk  was  about  the  war. 
General  Leman's  heroic  stand  at  Liege  had  ended  in  sur- 
render. King  Albert's  government  had  retired  to  Ant- 
werp ;  the  way  was  open  for  the  enemy  to  Brussels,  and 
it  was  not  yet  certain  whether  Brussels  would  deliver 
itself  up  or  defend  itself. 

But  the  great  news,  now  allowed  to  be  known,  was  that 
the  British  Expeditionary  Force  was  all  on  French  soil. 

There  was  plenty  to  talk  about.  Lady  Brent  was 
pessimistic,  and  already  saw  the  Germans  over-running 
Belgium.  Wilbraham  thought  that  when  the  English 
and  French  once  moved  in  concert  the  Germans  would 
be  rolled  up  and  rolled  back  like  a  carpet,  and  the  end 
of  the  whole  mad  business  would  come  very  soon  after- 
wards. Mrs.  Brent  was  inclined  to  agree  with  him.  She 
alone  of  the  three  had  her  eye  anxiously  upon  Harry  as 
she  spoke,  with  the  fear  working  in  her  that,  after  all,  he 
might  be  drawn  into  the  vortex.  "  It  can't  go  on  for 
two  years,"  she  said.  "  It  couldn't  go  on  for  three 
years,  could  it?  " 

They  laughed  at  her.  "  You  may  make  yourself  quite 
easy  on  that  score,"  said  Lady  Brent. 

To  Harry  it  all  seemed  extremely  unimportant.  The 

123 


124  SIRHARRY 

conviction  that,  whether  it  lasted  one  year  or  two  years, 
or  three,  or  ended  before  Christmas,  he  would  certainly 
be  involved  in  it  somehow  had  been  registered  in  his 
mind  and  could  be  laid  aside  until  it  should  fulfil 
itself.  He  did  not  want  to  think  about  it,  still  less  to 
talk  about  it.  His  personal  connection  with  what  was 
going  on  now,  brought  to  his  mind  that  afternoon  by  his 
talk  with  Fred  Armour,  had  faded  from  his  mind;  and 
the  tale  of  the  war  as  it  was  being  unfolded  from  day  to 
day  and  as  it  was  being  discussed  by  those  about  him, 
had  little  more  interest  for  him  than  the  tale  of  a  war 
•centuries  old  which  he  might  have  studied  with  Wilbra- 
ham. 

Yet  he  joined  in  the  talk  from  time  to  time,  and  if 
he  said  nothing  that  had  much  effect  upon  the  discussion 
he  said  whatever  he  did  say  in  such  a  way  as  to  arouse 
no  suspicion  in  the  minds  of  his  elders  that  his  thoughts 
were  almost  completely  divorced  from  his  speech. 

The  old  dim  hall  in  which  they  sat  had  its  windows 
open  to  the  night,  which  was  now  quite  still,  with  a  sky 
of  spangled  velvet,  broken  into  by  the  dark  spires  of 
the  cypresses  in  the  garden.  Harry  could  see  them 
through  the  window  opposite  to  which  he  sat,  and  in  the 
intervals  of  talk  he  could  hear  the  plash  of  the  foun- 
tains. The  thought  came  to  him  that  he  would  like  to 
walk  with  Viola  in  the  starlit  garden.  He  would  like 
to  show  her  this  beautiful  house  of  his ;  it  would  be  a 
tribute  to  her,  and  his  own  love  of  it  would  be  enhanced 
by  her  praise.  He  looked  round  at  the  hall  and  saw 
its  carved  and  dusky  splendour  with  new  eyes. 


VIOLA  125 

They  were  dining  at  a  table  set  in  the  oriel  window 
facing  on  the  garden.  The  table  was  lit  by  candles  in 
branched  silver  candlesticks.  On  a  heavy  buffet  by  the 
door  from  the  kitchens  and  buttery,under  the  gallery  and 
on  serving  tables,  were  other  candles.  There  were  per- 
haps a  dozen  in  all,  and  they  gave  what  light  was  neces- 
sary, but  left  the  high-pitched,  raftered  roof  just 
a-glimmer,  and  parts  of  the  hall  in  shadow.  The  por- 
traits that  hung  above  the  dark  wainscoting  were  dimly 
seen,  the  gilded  carving  of  the  gallery  and  the  screen  be- 
neath it  glowed  softly  where  the  candles  shone  upon 
it,  and  faded  into  rich  dimness  beyond  the  circle  of 
light. 

Viola !  She  would  love  this  old  hall,  and  all  the  other 
stately  rooms  of  the  ancient  house.  He  had  never 
thought  of  it,  except  very  vaguely,  as  belonging  to  him, 
but  he  thought  of  himself  now  as  belonging  to  it.  He 
would  like  her  to  admire  anything  that  had  to  do  with 
him,  and  he  would  like  her  to  share  his  admiration. 

But  such  thoughts  as  these  were  a  very  small  part  of 
what  was  rioting  through  his  mind.  His  chief  feeling 
about  his  immediate  surroundings  was  one  of  strange- 
ness that  he  should  be  sitting  there  quietly  dining  and 
talking  upon  unimportant  matters  which  had  nothing 
to  do  with  Viola.  It  was  to  connect  her  with  them  that 
he  took  notice  of  them  at  all,  and  he  looked  out  more 
often  into  the  still  starlit  garden,  because  it  was  under 
the  sky  that  he  had  met  her  and  talked  to  her,  and  her 
alliance  with  the  things  of  nature  that  he  loved  was 
already  fixed  and  established.  All  beautiful  aspects  of 


126  SIRHARRY 

the  world,  and  of  the  fair  places  in  his  own  world,  con- 
nected themselves  naturally  with  her.  She  filled  every 
corner  of  his  mind,  and  to  whatever  source  of  familiar 
delight  he  turned  she  seemed  to  be  there  before  him. 

After  dinner,  on  summer  nights,  Harry  often  walked 
in  the  garden  with  his  mother.  Lady  Brent  never  went 
out,  but  sat  with  her  book  in  the  drawing-room.  Wil- 
braham  spent  half  an  hour  in  the  library,  smoking  and 
reading,  and  then  came  into  the  drawing-room  to  play  the 
piano  or  to  talk  until  they  went  to  bed  at  ten  o'clock. 
When  they  heard  the  first  notes  of  the  piano,  Harry 
and  his  mother  would  go  indoors.  If  they  lingered, 
Lady  Brent  would  send  Wilbraham  out  for  them,  on  the 
plea  of  the  night  air  being  dangerous,  or,  if  the  night 
was  so  warm  that  that  seemed  too  absurd,  of  its  being 
time  for  Harry  to  go  to  bed.  She  did  not  like  these 
garden  confabulations  between  mother  and  son,  but 
never  showed  it  except  by  confining  them  thus  to  the 
half-hour  after  dinner. 

To-night  Harry  half  hoped  that  his  mother  would  not 
come  out  with  him.  He  wanted  to  be  alone,  but  re- 
proached himself  for  the  desire  as  she  asked  him  to 
fetch  her  shawl  and  smiled  at  him  with  the  pleasure 
manifest  in  her  face.  He  knew  how  much  it  meant  to 
her  to  have  him  for  this  quiet  half-hour  to  herself.  It 
was  the  only  one  in  the  long  day  that  she  could  call  her 
own.  He  was  left  free  to  his  own  duties  and  devices, 
except  for  the  times  when  all  of  them  were  together. 
With  his  youthful  sense  of  fairness  he  knew  that  both 
his  mother  and  grandmother  left  him  free  in  this  way 


VIOLA  127 

for  his  sake  and  not  for  theirs.  He  must  not  grudge 
them  the  short  time  that  he  was  expected  to  be  with 
them.  And  he  had  taken  a  pleasure  himself  in  these 
little  garden  wanderings  with  his  mother  that  arose  not 
only  from  the  satisfaction  of  giving  her  pleasure.  He 
loved  her — more  than  he  loved  anybody — and  had  a 
man's  sense  of  protection  towards  her.  He  did  not  know 
yet  that  he  loved  Viola.  The  idea  of  love  had  not  yet 
occurred  to  him  in  connection  with  her.  As  he  ran 
upstairs  to  get  his  mother's  shawl,  the  thought  crossed 
his  mind  that  he  had  never  yet  wanted  to  get  away  from 
his  mother  for  the  time  he  was  accustomed  to  devote 
himself  to  her,  and  puzzled  him  a  little. 

He  was  more  than  usually  kind  to  her  as  they  walked 
up  and  down  the  long  bowling  green  together  between 
the  close-clipped  yew  hedges.  He  made  an  effort  to  dis- 
possess his  mind  of  what  was  filling  it,  and  to  be  to  her 
what  he  would  have  been  but  for  the  thrilling  adventure 
that  had  befallen  him.  The  only  sign  of  all  that  was 
hidden  from  her — and  she  had  no  clue  to  its  meaning — 
was  when  he  said  that  the  garden  made  him  feel  shut 
in,  and  asked  her  to  walk  in  the  park  with  him. 

She  felt  his  tenderness  and  palpitated  with  happiness 
over  it.  If  she  had  but  known  that  the  time  had  come 
when  she  was  less  to  him  than  she  had  ever  been,  and 
that  his  kindness  and  gentleness  were  but  vicarious 
tributes  meant,  though  all  unconsciously,  to  take  the 
place  of  the  love  that  must  soon  be  withdrawn  from 
spending  itself  only  on  her,  and  given  to  another!  But 
these  wounds  to  a  mother's  love  were  spared  her  for 


128  SIR   HARRY 

to-night.     She  thought  he  was  nearer  than  ever  to  her, 
and  all  thoughts  of  losing  him  were  far  from  her. 

She  ventured  to  talk  of  her  fear  of  the  war  taking 
him  from  her,  and  he  soothed  her,  laughing  at  her  fears. 
He  did  not  tell  her  of  his  conviction  that  it  would  do  so, 
nor  feel  any  desire  to  tell  her.  What  he  did  feel  a  half- 
shrinking  desire  to  do  was  to  tell  her  about  Viola.  But 
an  instinct  which  he  did  not  understand  prevented  him, 
and  the  moment  they  had  parted  he  was  glad  that  he 
had  resisted  the  impulse.  The  secret  was  not  his  alone. 
It  gave  him  joy  to  think  that  it  was  a  secret,  and  that 
it  was  not  his  alone. 

Wilbraham  called  out  for  them.  They  went  in,  and 
Harry  said  good-night  at  once  and  went  upstairs.  He 
was  no  longer  sent  to  bed  before  the  rest,  but  no  objec- 
tion was  ever  made  if  he  went. 

When  he  was  alone  in  his  room  he  breathed  relief. 
His  mother,  perhaps,  would  come  in  on  her  way  to  bed, 
but  otherwise  he  would  be  alone  for  the  hours  of  the 
night,  and  yet  so  much  not  alone.  He  thought  that  to- 
night his  mother  would  certainly  come,  and  he  undressed 
quickly  so  that  when  he  should  hear  her  he  could  get 
into  bed  and  pretend  to  be  asleep.  This  small  piece  of 
deception  did  not  trouble  him,  since  it  would  not  trouble 
her.  He  had  never  given  her  what  he  owed  her.  Now  he 
wanted  to  think  uninterruptedly  of  Viola. 

He  leaned  out  of  the  window  with  his  chin  on  his 
hands  and  gazed  at  the  dark  masses  of  trees  in  front  of 
him  and  at  the  starry  roof  of  the  sky  above  them,  which 
was  above  her,  too.  His  window  was  on  the  same  side 


VIOLA  129 

of  the  house  as  that  of  the  room  in  which  Grant  had 
slept  the  year  before,  but  the  trees  were  nearer  to  it. 
He  gazed  more  at  the  sky  than  at  the  trees.  Yes,  in 
that  direction,  almost  directly  in  front  of  him,  lay  the 
cottage  in  which  she  was — now  at  this  very  minute.  It 
was  a  moving  thought.  Perhaps  she  was  asleep,  perhaps 
she  was  looking  at  the  same  stars  as  he  was.  Perhaps 
she  was  thinking  of  him,  as  he  was  thinking  of  her.  That 
was  a  very  stirring  thought, and  led  him  to  shift  his  posi- 
tion. He  wanted  to  be  in  motion  as  he  thought  of  her. 
Later  on,  when  the  house  was  all  asleep,  he  would  dress 
and  go  out.  For  the  present  he  could  only  walk  about 
his  room,  when  the  waves  of  emotion  that  came  to  him 
stirred  him  from  his  place  at  the  window. 

But  he  could  not  think  like  that.  He  did  not  know 
what  to  think  about.  His  impatience  grew  for  the  time 
to  come  when  he  should  be  alone  and  undisturbed.  Then 
he  would  be  able  to  think,  out  there  under  the  stars.  The 
trees  oppressed  him,  as  they  had  never  done  before.  He 
got  into  bed.  He  would  lie  and  think  there  until  his 
mother  had  come  and  gone.  But  the  moment  he  got  into 
bed  he  fell  asleep,  and  did  not  awake  when  she  came  in 
softly,  shielding  the  light  of  her  candle  from  his  eyes. 

How  beautiful  he  looked  #s  he  lay  there,  his  head 
slightly  turned  on  the  pillow  and  one  arm  and  hand 
along  his  side  on  the  counterpane — and  how  innocent! 
How  she  loved  him  for  that  beauty  and  innocence !  She 
felt  it  as  uplifting  her  from  the  lower  plane  of  unrest 
and  petulance  upon  which  she  was  apt  to  move.  She 
blessed  him  for  the  calming,  purifying  thoughts  which 


130  SIRHARRY 

he  brought  to  her,  and  took  comfort  to  herself  in  the 
thoughts  that  there  must  be  something  good  in  herself 
since  it  was  partly  owing  to  her  influence  that  he  was  so 
free  from  evil.  Yes,  he  was  hers ;  her  own  dear  child 
whom  she  loved,  and  who  loved  her.  She  had  set  horself 
aside  and  allowed  another  to  direct  his  life  and  hers. 
Soon  he  would  be  free  from  that  tutelage,  but  not  from 
the  bonds  that  her  love  had  woven  around  him.  She 
would  reap  her  reward.  Oh,  it  was  a  blessed  thing  to 
bear  children,  and  after  long  years  to  have  them  as  a 
prop  and  stay,  as  well  as  a  solace.  Not  for  many  years 
would  he  leave  her,  in  spirit,  though  in  body  they  would 
sometimes  be  parted.  She  must  be  more  to  him  now  than 
she  had  ever  been,  and  when  the  time  came  to  give  him 
up  to  another  she  would  not  complain,  since  she  would 
have  had  him  so  perfectly  for  a  time. 

It  was  nearly  two  o'clock  when  Harry  awoke,  sud- 
denly, and  in  complete  possession  of  himself.  He  might 
have  thought  that  he  had  not  slept  at  all,  but  that  the 
moon  shining  in  at  his  window  told  him  the  hour  as 
plainly  as  if  it  had  been  called  in  his  ear. 

He  sprang  out  of  bed  and  began  to  put  on  his  clothes, 
but  paused  for  a  moment,  asking  himself  why  he  was  in 
such  a  hurry  to  do  so. 

As  happens  so  often  in  sleep,  the  perplexities  with 
which  he  had  lain  down  seemed  to  have  resolved  them- 
selves without  conscious  process.  He  had  wanted  to  ask 
himself  what  had  happened  to  him,  but  it  seemed  now 
as  if  some  romantic  mist  had  cleared  away  from  his  brain 
and  nothing  in  particular  had  happened  to  him — noth- 


VIOLA  131 

ing,  at  least,  that  needed  any  careful  process  of  self- 
examination.  He  had  met  a  very  charming  and  friendly 
girl,  and  he  was  going  to  meet  her  again  in  the  day 
that  was  already  moving  towards  dawn.  That  would 
be  very  agreeable,  but  what  was  there  in  it  to  have  put 
him  into  the  state  in  which  he  had  lived  through  the 
evening? 

But,  as  the  thought  of  meeting  her  again  with  half 
the  hours  of  darkness  already  gone — presented  itself  to 
him,  he  felt  again  the  glow  of  pleasure  and  anticipa- 
tion. Yes,  he  wanted  to  think  about  her,  and  he  could 
think  best  about  her  out  in  the  open. 

He  dressed  quickly  and  dropped  from  his  window  onto 
the  grass,  which  was  not  more  than  ten  feet  or  so  below 
him.  And  now  he  seemed  to  be  more  master  of  himself, 
as  he  passed  across  a  strip  of  moonlit  green  and  into  the 
dimness  of  the  wood.  He  was  reminded  of  the  night  in 
which  the  vision  of  the  fairies  dancing  had  come  to  him. 
Now  it  was  full  summer  and  then  spring  had  only  been 
on  its  way ;  his  long-trained  sense  marked  the  difference 
in  a  thousand  little  signs.  But  that  had  been  a  night 
of  silver  moonshine,  as  this  was.  The  contact  with 
nature  was  clear  on  such  quiet,  illumined  nights  as  this. 

Viola ! 

She  grew  slowly  upon  him  as  he  trod  the  soft  grass 
or  the  dry  crackling  beech-mast.  Her  face,  somewhat  to 
his  surprise,  he  could  not  call  up  before  him,  though  he 
tried  to  see  it  with  his  inward  eye.  But  he  dwelt  upon 
the  slight  supple  figure  that  had  moved  beside  him  so 
freely  and  so  gracefully.  It  gave  him  pleasure  to  recall 


132  SIRHARRY 

her  slender  hand,  which  had  lain  in  his,  and  he  remem- 
bered her  feet  and  ankles  in  their  neat  brown  shoes  and 
stockings,  and  the  fall  of  her  skirt  over  them,  and  the 
little  hat  of  soft  white  straw  with  its  twisted  ribbon. 

Again  he  was  a  little  puzzled  at  the  effect  these  memo- 
ries had  upon  him.  He  had  an  eye  for  beauty  of  ani- 
mate form.  He  loved  the  grace  of  certain  animals ;  he 
and  Wilbraham  together  had  taken  delight  in  pictures 
of  Greek  statuary  and  vase  painting,  with  special  refer- 
ence to  that  beauty ;  he  had  admired  the  quick,  clean 
limbs  of  the  two  children  with  whom  he  had  been  so 
much,  and  of  other  children  of  the  village,  older  or 
younger.  But  it  had  been  purely  an  aesthetic  pleasure, 
and  had  brought  with  it  none  of  the  emotion  with  which 
the  thought  of  Viola  moved  him. 

He  was  a  little  frightened  of  this  emotion  and  inclined 
to  resist  it;  but  something  out  of  the  soft  night  whis- 
pered to  him  that  its  current  was  one  with  all  the  emo- 
tions upon  which  he  had  fed,  and  grown  in  feeding.  It 
was  part  of  the  secret  which  he  had  only  half  divined 
at  the  end  of  that  vigil  which  seemed  to  have  marked  a 
stage  in  his  life. 

His  joy  in  the  thought  of  her  increased.  He  recalled 
the  tones  of  her  voice,  and  the  ring  of  her  happy  laugh- 
ter, and  dwelt  upon  things  that  she  had  said.  They 
were  nothing;  they  might  have  been  said  by  anybody; 
none  of  them  at  which  he  smiled  to  himself  were  so  worth 
remembering  as  the  things  that  little  Jane  often  said 
and  he  had  remembered  afterwards,  smiling  at  them  too, 
but  not  with  that  tenderness  of  feeling  towards  them. 


VIOLA  133 

He  came  to  the  park  wall,  where  there  was  a  door  to 
which  he  kept  the  key.  He  seldom  went  outside  the  park 
on  his  night  roamings.  The  woods  continued  here  for 
some  distance  before  the  open  ground  was  reached, 
though  by  the  ride  he  had  taken  in  the  afternoon  they 
ended  with  the  wall,  in  which  there  was  another  locked 
gate.  If  he  wanted  to  go  on  to  the  moor  at  night,  and 
stand  beneath  the  open  sky,  with  nothing  about  him  but 
space,  it  was  by  that  path  that  he  reached  it.  But  he 
seemed  to  have  had  a  purpose,  unknown  to  him,  in  mak- 
ing for  this  door,  anid  when  he  reached  it  he  had  no 
thought  but  for  passing  beyond  the  bounds  of  the  park. 
It  was  by  that  path  that  the  cottage  in  which  Viola 
was  could  be  reached  most  directly.  He  knew  when  he 
came  to  the  door,  but  not  before,  that  he  meant  to  go 
to  it. 

He  had  left  the  key  behind,  but  scaled  the  wall,  not 
without  some  difficulty,  and  went  on  through  the  wood. 
By  and  by  he  came  to  a  garden  fence,  and  there  beyond 
it,  across  the  fruit  bushes  and  the  untidy  tangle  of  late 
summer,  was  the  cottage,  low  and  thatched  and  white- 
washed, in  which  she  was  sleeping. 

He  stood  still  and  drew  his  breath. 

Viola ! 

There  was  a  little  dormer  window  in  the  thatch,  open. 
It  might  be  that  of  the  room  in  which  she  was  sleeping. 
A  cottager  would  not  sleep  in  a  room  with  the  window 
open.  He  tried  to  remember  what 'the  cottage  was  like 
inside,  and  what  rooms  would  be  most  likely  to  be 
given  up  to  visitors.  It  seemed  to  him  of  the  ut- 


134  SIR   HARRY 

most  importance  to  have  it  settled  which  was  Viola's 
room. 

He  moved  round  to  the  front  of  the  cottage,  treading 
softly  on  the  turf  lest  a  sound  should  reveal  his  presence. 
Perhaps  she  was  awake.  It  was  not  part  of  their  secret 
that  he  should  come  out  at  night  to  gaze  at  her  win- 
dow. He  must  not  reveal  himself. 

The  wood  extended  a  little  way  on  to  the  moor  by 
the  side  of  the  cottage.  It  was  the  point  that  had  hidden 
it  from  them  in  the  afternoon.  But  it  faced  open  ground 
across  a  narrow  fenced-in  strip  of  garden.  The  whole 
of  its  front  could  be  seen  obliquely  from  the  wood. 

He  stood  in  the  shadow  of  a  giant  holly — and  saw  her. 

She  was  sitting  at  a  window,  her  chin  resting  on  her 
hand,  looking  out  across  the  moor  to  where  the  sea  lay 
gleaming  in  the  radiance  of  the  moon.  She  was  in 
white;  her  dusky  hair  lay  about  her  shoulders  and 
framed  her  young  face,  in  which  the  dark  eyes  were  set. 

It  was  only  a  glimpse  that  he  had  of  her,  for  he  stole 
silently  away,  abashed  at  having  surprised  a  revelation 
not  meant  for  his  eyes. 

But  it  was  like  the  glimpse  that  he  had  had  of  the 
fairies  dancing.  It  thrilled  and  calmed  him  at  the  same 
time.  He  knew  now  that  the  fairies  had  not  revealed  all 
the  secret  to  him.  Viola  was  the  secret,  towards  which 
all  his  life  and  all  that  he  had  learned  of  nature  had  been 
leading  him.  Viola  lay  at  the  warm,  sweet  heart  of  it  all. 
Everything  was  changed  by  that  vision  he  had  had  of 
her,  and  soon  he  would  see  her  and  tell  her  so. 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE  WOODLAND   POOL 

THEY  met  in  the  woodland  path  which  Harry  had 
taken  in  the  night.  He  was  there  before  the  time  ap- 
pointed and  threw  himself  down  on  the  grass  to  await 
her  coming.  He  could  see  some  distance  along  the  path 
from  where  he  had  stationed  himself.  It  was  narrow 
just  here  and  the  thick  overhanging  branches  of  the 
trees  made  a  green  shady  tunnel  flecked  with  quivering 
points  of  light. 

He  waited  in  a  state  of  patient  expectation,  not 
greatly  moved  or  stirred,  but  happy  and  contented. 
The  time  did  not  seem  very  long,  though  he  waited  for 
half  an  hour. 

At  last  she  came.  She  was  dressed  all  in  white.  It 
seemed  that  it  must  have  been  so  as  she  appeared,  in 
the  glooming  green,  which  had  been  like  an  empty  frame 
waiting  for  just  that  pictu"^  of  maiden  whiteness. 

He  sprang  up  to  meet  her,  and  she  waved  her  hand 
when  she  saw  him  and  hurried  her  steps  a  little.  That 
frank  greeting  took  them  back  to  the  point  at  which 
they  had  parted  the  day  before.  An  ocean  of  feeling 
and  experience  had  washed  over  Harry  in  the  intervening 
hours,  but  it  was  lifted  from  him  as  they  met  and  smiled 
their  greetings.  His  was  as  frank  and  untroubled  as  hers. 

135 


136  SIR   HARRY 

They  chattered  gaily  together  like  happy  children 
as  they  turned  aside  from  the  path  and  went  up  through 
the  wood.  Harry  felt  an  immeasurable  content  at  be- 
ing with  her,  laughed  at  nothing,  and  sometimes  broke 
into  snatches  of  song,  which  interrupted  the  conversa- 
tion and  made  her  laugh  in  turn.  He  had  a  fresh,  clear 
voice,  which  Wilbraham  had  done  something  to  train. 
It  was  a  happy  little  song  about  June  that  was  running 
in  his  head.  She  knew  it,  too,  and  after  a  time  she  took 
it  up  with  him.  "  That's  the  way  of  June."  Once  when 
they  had  come  to  a  place  a  little  more  open,  they  stood 
and  sang  it  together  in  unison,  and  then  laughed  and 
went  on  again. 

Her  father  had  gone  out  painting  on  the  common,  she 
told  him.  He  had  asked  her  to  go  with  him,  but  she  had 
said  it  was  too  hot  in  the  sun.  She  would  wander  in  the 
woods.  "  I  didn't  say  I  should  wander  in  the  woods 
alone,"  she  said. 

"  They  never  want  to  know  where  I'm  going,"  said 
Harry.  "  I  go  out  after  breakfast  and  come  back  to 
lunch,  and  sometimes  I  tell  them  where  I've  been  and 
sometimes  I  don't." 

It  seemed  natural  that  their  elders  should  go  their 
way,  and  they  should  go  theirs,  in  which  elders  had  no 
concern.  It  was  their  secret,  to  which  no  one  had  a  right 
but  themselves.  But  it  gave  Harry  great  pleasure  to 
hear  from  her  in  that  waj7  that  it  was  to  be  their  secret. 
"  That's  the  way  of  June,"  he  caroled  again,  in  no  very 
obvious  connection. 

They  came  to  the  still  waters  of  the  hidden  pool.     It 


THE    WOODLAND    POOL          137 

would  not  have  been  surprising  if  no  eye  but  Harry's 
had  seen  it  since  the  trees  had  grown  up  around  it. 
They  had  to  make  their  way  to  it  through  thick  bushes, 
which  even  in  winter  time  could  have  concealed  it.  He 
had  been  careful  in  his  visits  not  to  go  in  and  out  of 
the  thicket  by  the  same  way,  and  so  leave  a  break.  It 
was  as  if  he  had  kept  it  secret  for  himself  and  her. 

When  they  had  pushed  their  way  through  they  were 
in  a  little  grassy  fern-fringed  space  open  to  the  sky, 
though  it  was  flanked  by  big  trees.  There  were  one  or 
two  more  of  these  tiny  lawns  sloping  to  the  edge  of  the 
water,  but  that  on  to  which  they  came  was  the  largest. 
An  age-old  oak  stood  sentinel  in  the  middle  of  it  and  it 
was  flanked  on  one  side  by  a  yew  that  must  have  been 
older  still,  so  vast  was  its  dark  circumference  and  so 
thick  its  red  ravelled  trunk. 

Viola,  exclaimed  with  delight.  The  pool  stretched  in 
front  of  them,  its  surface  unruffled,  mirroring  the  blue 
sky  and  the  green  depths  of  the  trees  and  the  tall  ferns 
that  grew  round  it.  There  was  no  vegetation  on  it  any- 
where. Harry  told  her  that  it  must  be  very  deep,  with 
a  spring  somewhere,  or  it  would  have  been  covered  with 
weed.  "  It's  much  nicer  like  this,"  she  said,  laughing  at 
him.  When  he  asked  her  why  she  laughed,  she  said: 
"  You're  so  proud  of  it."  It  did  not  seem  much  of  a 
reason,  but  he  liked  her  to  laugh  at  him  like  that,  looking 
at  him  and  showing  her  pleasure  in  everything  that  he 
said  that  revealed  a  little  of  him. 

For  one  moment  as  they  stood  by  the  edge  of  the  water 
he  had  a  slight  sense  of  anti-climax.  He  had  brought 


138  SIR   HARRY 

her,  not  without  difficulty,  to  the  pool,  as  if  in  some  way 
it  was  to  be  the  end  of  things,  and  in  some  way  also  the 
beginning.  But  without  some  lead  on  her  part  there  was 
nothing  much  to  stay  there  for.  It  must  be  either  the 
accepted  scene,  or  nothing  but  a  point  of  interest  from 
which  they  would  presently  move  on,  with  nothing  more 
that  he  had  yet  thought  of  in  front  of  them. 

The  feeling  disappeared  as  she  turned  towards  the 
mossed  roots  of  the  oak,  which  made  a  seat  for  her.  He 
threw  himself  among  the  fern  at  her  feet  with  a  sensa- 
tion of  desire  accomplished.  She  had  accepted  it.  The 
little  lawn  by  the  still  water,  hidden  from  all  human 
eyes  but  theirs,  was  now  consecrated  by  the  simple  fact 
of  her  taking  her  seat  under  the  oak.  She  was  queen 
of  the  pool  and  the  deep  summer  woods. 

So  far  in  their  intercourse  little  points  had  arisen  in 
which  it  had  been  for  one  or  the  other  of  them  to  take  a 
step  further,  if  it  were  to  continue.  She  had  stood  wait- 
ing as  Harry  rode  up  to  her,  he  had  stopped,  and  she 
had  spoken ;  he  had  walked  with  her ;  he  had  asked  her  to 
meet  him  again ;  he  had  brought  her  to  the  pool,  and  she 
had  seated  herself  there  to  await  what  should  come.  The 
initiative  had  been  more  his  than  hers,  and  now  it  was  his 
again.  The  fact  of  her  taking  her  seat  there,  under  the 
tree,  was  an  invitation,  though  she  may  not  have  meant 
it  as  such.  They  might  talk  there  through  the  long 
morning  hours,  but  their  talk  could  not  be  only  of  ex- 
ternals. It  must  be  on  a  more  intimate  note,  or  they 
might  just  as  well  roam  the  woods  together  lightly.  This 
green  nook  by  the  water,  hidden  and  secret,  was  a  shrine 


THE    WOODLAND    POOL          139 

in  which  they  would  worship  together,  as  yet  they  knew 
not  what,  but  it  would  be  something  sacred  and  beautiful 
that  was  calling  to  both  of  them. 

There  was  silence  between  them  for  a  moment — the 
silence  of  recollection  which  comes  before  an  act  of  devo- 
tion. Then  Harry  looked  up  at  her  and  said,  with  his 
voice  trembling  a  little :  "  I've  never  told  any  one  of 
this  place  before.  I  think  I  kept  it  for  you." 

She  smiled  down  at  him,  with  the  light  soft  in  her 
eyes.  "  I'm  glad  you  did  that,"  she  said.  "  I  shall 
never  forget  it.  It  is  so  quiet  and  green  and  beautiful," 
she  added,  a  little  hurriedly,  as  if  the  meaning  of  her 
words  might  be  mistaken. 

"  I  might  have  shown  it  to  the  children,"  he  said, 
reflectively.  "  I  don't  quite  know  why  I  didn't.  But 
I'm  glad  I  didn't,  too." 

She  asked  him  who  the  children  were,  and  he  told  her 
about  Jane  and  Pobbles,  and  the  things  that  they  had 
done  together.  She  asked  him  a  good  many  questions 
and  was  a  little  particular  in  fixing  the  exact  date  of 
Jane's  birth,  and  of  her  arrival  at  Royd. 

Harry  answered  all  her  questions  and  told  her  of  the 
map  that  he  had  begun  to  draw  for  them  the  afternoon 
before.  "  It  seems  such  ages  ago,"  he  said.  "  I  was 
missing  them  both,  but  I  don't  think  I've  given  them  a 
thought  since,  until  just  now." 

She  allowed  herself  to  soften  towards  Jane;  for  at 
one  point  she  had  suggested  that  she  seemed  rather  pre- 
cocious for  so  young  a  child.  "  Poor  little  things !  "  she 
said.  "  I'm  sure  they  must  miss  you,  too.  You  have 


140  SIR    HARRY 

been  so  good  to  them.  And  they  are  the  only  young 
friends  you  have  had,  aren't  they?  " 

Talking  of  the  children  had  a  little  lowered  the  note 
of  intimacy.  Her  last  words  restored  it.  "  Until  I 
knew  you,"  he  answered. 

"  And  that's  such  a  very  short  time." 

"  No ;  it's  a  very  long  time.  It's  all  the  time  that 
matters." 

She  smiled  at  him,  and  he  went  on.  "  Think  of  it, 
that  only  yesterday — yesterday,  much  later  than  this — 
I  was  feeling  dull  and  unhappy.  Then  I  rode  out  to  the 
sea,  and  felt  much  better,  but  I  didn't  know  anything 
about  you.  Fancy — only  yesterday  I  had  never  seen 
you." 

She  listened  with  her  eyes  fixed  upon  him  and  her  lips 
a  little  apart.  "  What  did  you  think  when  you  first  saw 
me  ?  "  she  asked,  softly. 

He  hesitated,  and  then  laughed.  "  I  don't  think  I 
thought  anything  in  particular,"  he  said.  "  That's 
what  is  so  extraordinary.  What  did  you  think  when 
you  saw  me?  " 

It  was  the  children's  pretty  game.  "  I  like  you. 
When  did  you  begin  to  like  me  ?  "  But  she  was  not  ready 
to  tell  him  that  yet.  Or  perhaps  she  might  have  told 
him,  if  he  had  acknowledged  to  some  emotion  at  the  first 
sight  of  her.  "  I  was  very  glad  to  see  somebody  who 
could  tell  me  where  I  was,"  she  said.  "  I  had  heard 
of  you,  you  know,  from  Mrs.  Ivimey;  but  somehow 
I  didn't  think  of  you  as  you  till  you  told  me  your 
name.'( 


THE    WOODLAND    POOL          141 

What  had  she  heard  of  him?  She  wouldn't  tell  him 
that,  either,  or  at  least  not  all  that  she  had  heard  about 
him ;  but  he  was  so  unaware  of  the  estimation  in  which 
he  was  held  by  the  people  about  him  that  he  did  not 
divine  that  she  was  keeping  something  back. 

What  Mrs.  Ivimey  had  said  of  "  the  folks  at  the 
Castle,"  generally  gave  them  something  to  talk  about. 
She  wanted  to  hear  all  about  his  life  and  those  among 
whom  he  spent  it ;  and  he  talked  about  himself  as  he  had 
never  talked  to  anybody  before.  His  desire  was  to  bring 
her  into  it  all.  He  told  her  a  great  deal  about  his  happy 
childhood,  and  some  of  the  secrets  that  he  had  cherished. 
He  told  her  about  the  stories  he  had  made  up  for  him- 
self, and,  with  a  little  hesitation,  the  one  about  the  gar- 
den and  the  flowers,  and  the  end  of  it.  "  I  was  terribly 
ashamed,"  he  said,  "  oh,  for  years  afterwards.  I'm  not 
sure  I  haven't  been  ashamed  of  it  right  up  till  now.  Now 
I've  made  a  clean  breast  of  it — to  you — I  don't  mind  so 
much.  I  must  have  been  a  horribly  vain  little  boy.  It 
used  to  distress  me  that  my  hair  wasn't  very  black  and 
very  smooth.  I  used  to  pray  that  it  might  be  made 
so." 

Her  eyes  rested  upon  his  fair  close-cropped  head.  He 
was  looking  down  and  did  not  see  the  look  in  them.  "  I'm 
glad  your  prayer  wasn't  answered,"  she  said.  "  But  I 
think  you  must  have  been  a  very  dear  little  boy.  I  wish 
I  had  known  you  then.  What  were  the  violas  like  in 
your  story  about  the  flowers?  Or  didn't  they  come 
in?" 

"  Yes,  they  did,"  he  said,  looking  up  at  her.    "  They 


142 

were  different  from  the  pansies — gentler  and  rather  shy. 
They  were  never  naughty." 

"  How  old  were  they?    Grown  up?  " 

"  No ;  children — with  dark  eyes  and  a  lot  of  dark  hair 
all  about  their  faces." 

"  Were  they  like  any  little  girls  you  had  seen?  " 

"  I  don't  think  so.  I  think  they  must  have  been  rather 
like  you  were  then." 

"  My  eyes  were  dark,  and  my  hair  was  loose  on  my 
shoulders.  Perhaps  something  put  it  into  your  head 
that  you  would  know  a  Viola  some  day." 

"  Scoop,  young  Jesus,  for  her  eyes 
Wood-brown  pools  of  Paradise." 

He  said  it  gently,  looking  into  her  eyes.  She  was 
startled  for  a  moment.  "You  know  it,  then?"  she 
said. 

"  Yes,  I  thought  of  it  when  you  told  me  you  had  been 
named  from  a  beautiful  poem.  But  I  couldn't  say  it 
then.  I  didn't  know  you  well  enough." 

"  Have  you  said  it  since?    Do  you  know  it  all?  " 

"  I  read  it  when  I  got  home  yesterday.  I  know  it  all 
now." 

"  Say  it  to  me." 

He  said  it  right  through,  slowly,  and  softly,  dwelling 
on  the  name  Viola — Viola — with  many  gradations  of  his 
flexible  voice,  and  she  thought  she  had  never  heard  any- 
thing more  beautiful  than  the  way  he  uttered  it.  Some- 
times her  eyes  rested  on  the  waters  of  the  pool,  but  more 
often  on  him,  but  his  were  on  her  all  the  time : 


THE    WOODLAND    POOL          143 
THE  MAKING  OF  VIOLA 

I 

The  Father  of  Heaven 

Spin,  daughter  Mary,  spin, 
Twirl  your  wheel  with  silver  din ; 
Spin,  daughter  Mary,  spin, 

Spin  a  tress  for  Viola. 
Angels 

Spin,  Queen   Mary,  a 
Brown  tress  for  Viola! 

II 

The  Father  of  Heaven 

Weave,  hands   angelical, 
Weave  a  woof  of  flesh  to  pall — 
Weave,  hands  angelical — 
Flesh  to  pall  our  Viola. 
Angels 

Weave,  singing  brothers,  a 
Velvet  flesh  for  Viola! 

Ill 

The  Father  of  Heaven 

Scoop,  young  Jesus,  for  her  eyes, 
Wood-brown  pools  of  Paradise — 
Young  Jesus,  for  the  eyes, 

For  the  eyes  of  Viola. 
Angels 

Tint,  Prince  Jesus,  a 
Dusked  eye  for  Viola ! 

IV 

The  Father  of  Heaven 

Cast  a  star  therein  to  drown, 

Like  a  torch  in  cavern  brown, 

Sink  a  burning  star  to  drown 

Whelmed  in  eyes  of  Viola. 


144  SIRHARRY 

Angels 

Lave,  Prince  Jesus,  a 
Star  in  eyes  of  Viola! 

V 

The  Father  of  Heaven 

Breathe,  Lord  Paraclete, 

To   a  bubbled   crystal   meet — 

Breathe,  Lord  Paraclete — 

Crystal  soul  for  Viola. 
Angels 

Breathe,  Regal  Spirit,  a 
Flashing  soul  for  Viola! 

VI 

The  Father  of  Heaven 

Child-angels,  from  your  wings 
Fall  the  roseal  hoverings, 
Child-angels,  from  your  wings 

On  the  cheeks  of  Viola. 
Angels 

Linger,  rosy  reflex,  a 
Quenchless  stain,  on  Viola ! 

VII 

All  things  being  accomplished,  saith  the  Father  of  Heaven; 
Bear  her  down,  and  bearing,  sing, 
Bear  her  down  on  spyless  wing, 
Bear  her  down,  and  bearing,  sing, 

With  a  sound  of  Viola. 
Angels 

Music  as  her  name  is,  a 
Sweet  sound  of  Viola! 

VIII 

Wheeling  angels,  past  espial, 
Danced  her  down  with  sound  of  viol; 
Wheeling  angels,  past  espial, 
Descanting  on  "  Viola." 


THE   WOODLAND    POOL          146 

Angels 

Sing,  in  our  footing,  a 
Lovely  lilt  of  "  Viola." 

IX 

Baby  smiled,  mother  wailed, 
Eastward  while  the  sweetling  sailed; 
Mother  smiled,  baby  wailed, 
When  to  earth  came  Viola. 

And  her  elders  shall  say: 

So  soon  have  we  taught  you  a 
Way  to  weep,  poor  Viola! 

X 

Smile,  sweet  baby,  smile, 
For  you  will  have  weeping-while; 
Native  in  your  Heaven  is  smile, — 
But  your  weeping,  Viola? 

Whence  your  smiles,  we  know,  but  ah! 
When  your  weeping,  Viola? 
Our  first  gift  to  you  is  a 
Gift  of  tears,  my  Viola! 

When  the  musical  flow  of  his  voice  had  ended,  they 
had  advanced  many  paces  further  on  the  path  they  were 
treading  together,  but  its  end  was  not  yet  known  to 
either  of  them.  Viola's  cheeks  were  rose-flushed  and  her 
eyes  were  shining.  There  was  silence  for  a  time  as  they 
looked  at  one  another,  and  love  flew  to  and  fro  between 
them  unhampered  in  his  flight  but  hidden  from  them. 

Viola  breathed  a  deep  sigh,  as  she  drew  her  eyes  away 
from  his,  half  unwillingly.  "  It's  lovely,"  she  said.  "  I 
didn't  know  how  lovely  it  was  till  you  said  it.  I'm  glad 
I've  got  the  most  beautiful  name  in  the  world." 


146  SIRHARRY 

"  And  the  most  beautiful  eyes  in  the  world,"  he  said. 
"  I  never  knew  that  there  was  anything  half  so  beautiful 
as  you,  though  I  have  always  loved  the  beautiful  things 
in  the  world.  I  used  to  wonder  what  they  meant,  and  a 
year  ago  I  thought  I  had  found  out.  But  now  I  know 
that  I  only  knew  half  of  it." 

"  Tell  me,"  she  said.  "  What  did  you  find  out  a  year 
ago?  " 

He  told  her  of  his  moonlight  vigil,  which  he  had  never 
thought  to  tell  any  oner  and  the  vision  that  had  come  to 
him  at  the  end  of  it. 

Again  she  listened  to  him,  fascinated,  with  her  eyes  on 
his  and  her  lips  apart.  But  as  he  drew  to  the  end  of  his 
story  her  face  grew  a  little  troubled. 

"  I  should  never  have  seen  that,"  she  said  when  he 
had  finished. 

"  We  might  have  seen  it  together  if  you  had  been 
there,"  he  said.  "  There  is  no  secret  I  could  see  that 
you  couldn't  see." 

"  No,"  she  said,  rather  sadly.  "  You  have  always 
lived  in  this  beautiful  place,  and  you  have  seen  nothing 
that  isn't  beautiful — all  your  life.  Of  course  you  could 
see  that,  because  there  was  nothing  to  get  in  the  way. 
But  it  isn't  at  all  beautiful  where  I  live.  I  have  seen  so 
many  ugly  things  all  round  me." 

"  It  must  always  be  beautiful  where  you  live — Viola." 

He  spoke  her  name  caressingly.  It  was  the  first  time 
he  had  uttered  it,  except  impersonally,  and  it  made  a 
new  sweet  contact  between  them. 

She  smiled  at  him.     "  Perhaps  if  you  love  beautiful 


THE    WOODLAND    POOL          147 

things,  and  think  about  them,"  she  said,  "  it  doesn't  so 
much  matter  if  you  can't  always  have  them  about  you. 
Do  you  think  I  could  really  see  the  fairies,  if  I  were 
with  you?  " 

He  thought  for  a  moment,  with  a  slight  frown  on  his 
face,  which  made  the  words  that  should  come  out  of  his 
thought  of  great  importance  to  her.  It  was  not  in  him 
to  say  something  just  to  please  her.  The  lightest  thing 
that  he  might  say  to  her  would  come  from  the  depths  of 
the  unspoilt  spirit  that  was  in  him. 

His  face  cleared,  and  he  looked  up  at  her  again.  "  I 
think  that  when  you  are  very  young  you  may  see  some- 
thing like  that,"  he  said,  " — or,  by  chance,  when  you  are 
older.  It  means  something  very  important,  or  else  it 
doesn't  mean  much.  It  meant  something  very  important 
to  me  to  see  them,  but  now  it's  not  so  important.  If  I 
had  never  seen  it  I  should  have  seen  you,  and  it  would 
have  been  just  the  same." 

"  Why  would  it  have  been  just  the  same?  " 

She  was  fascinated  anew.  Did  ever  a  girl  have  such 
incense  as  this  burned  before  her?  And  it  was  incense 
lit  from  a  flame  in  the  heart,  not  from  a  spark  on 
the  tongue.  Her  nostrils  were  eager  for  the  fume 
of  it. 

Again  the  little  considering  frown.  "  It  would,"  he 
said,  "  I  know  it  would.  It  all  meant  you,  somehow, 
though  I  have  never  seen  you  until  now.  There  was 
something  wanting  in  it  all  the  time  ;^and  it  was  you.  I 
should  never  look  at  anything  now,  and  think  how  beau- 
tiful it  was,  without  thinking  of  you." 


148  SIRHARRY 

Lover's  words,  spoken  by  an  unconscious  lover.  They 
pleased  and  pained  her  at  the  same  time. 

"  I'm  afraid  you  make  too  much  of  me,"  she  said,  with 
a  sigh.  "  If  I  had  lived  here  always,  as  I  am  living 
now !» 

She  did  not  complete  her  sentence.  The  memory  of 
things  she  had  seen  and  known  and  of  which  he  had 
known  nothing,  rose  up  between  them.  But  she  put 
them  aside,  and  smiled  at  him  again.  "  After  all,"  she 
said,  "  I  am  here  now,  and  I  have  never  been  so  happy 
anywhere  else.  Perhaps  I  have  been  keeping  myself  for 
it,  without  knowing  that  it  was  this  I  was  meant  for. 
I  think  I  was  meant  for  it,  because  all  the  rest  seems  like 
nothing  at  all.  When  I  go  back,  it  will  be  less  than  ever 
to  me." 

Her  talk  of  going  back  stabbed  him.  Life  would  be 
an  incredible  thing  when  they  were  parted.  They  stirred 
each  the  other's  fears  and  shrinkings  as  they  talked  of  it, 
but  behind  all  the  pain  was  the  thought  that  they  would 
be  with  one  another  for  a  long  time  yet.  They  were  so 
young  that  time  in  front  of  them  was  not  measured  by 
the  same  rule  as  time  that  had  passed.  More  than  two 
whole  weeks  and  most  of  a  third  Viola  had  still  to  spend 
in  Paradise.  They  would  meet  every  day.  Surely, 
nothing  could  prevent  their  meeting  every  day !  Twice  a 
day  they  would  meet,  in  this  secret  place,  and  be  undis- 
turbed for  long  summer  hours  in  their  happiness.  No 
need  to  spoil  it  by  thinking  of  the  end. 

They  parted  for  a  time.  The  last  Harry  saw  of  her 
was  the  white  figure  framed  in  its  arch  of  green.  Before 


THE    WOODLAND    POOL          149 

she  passed  out  of  it  she  turned  and  stood  there  for  a 
moment,  motionless.  She  was  too  far  for  him  to  see  her 
face  clearly,  but  the  message  passed  to  and  fro  between 
them  again.  It  was  all  there,  though  they  had  not  yet 
spoken  it  in  words,  and  eyes  were  too  far  off  to  be  read. 


CHAPTER    XII 

AT    THE    THRESHOLD 

HARRY  went  home  to  luncheon  and  hurried  to  the  wood 
again  immediately  afterwards.  He  had  much  farther  to 
go  to  the  trysting-place  than  she.  She  might  even  be 
waiting  for  him  when  he  got  there. 

She  was  not  there,  and  after  half  an  hour  she  had  not 
come. 

Oh  cruel !  And  yet  he  knew,  ,as  his  longing  grew  and 
his  hopes  fell,  that  she  would  have  come  if  she  could. 
Her  father  had  claimed  her ;  something  out  of  her  power 
to  prevent  or  foresee  had  kept  her  away.  She  would  not 
stay  away  from  him  for  ever. 

Yet  he  was  increasingly  unhappy  as  the  time  passed 
and  the  green  frame  remained  empty  of  its  sweet  picture. 
The  heat  of  a  summer  afternoon  lay  brooding  on  the 
silent  wood,  and  was  like  lead  upon  his  heart.  He  paced 
up  and  down  the  path,  to  the  corner  from  which  the 
garden  of  the  cottage  could  be  seen.  He  thought  of 
going  to  it,  and  talking  to  Mrs.  Ivimey,  who  would  know 
what  had  become  of  Viola,  and  would  certainly  talk  to 
him  about  her.  But  no,  he  could  not  do  that.  It  would 
be  sweet  to  hear  her  name  on  other  lips,  but  he  would 
have  to  pretend  that  he  was  hearing  of  her  for  the  first 
time,  and  he  shrank  from  that,  and  from  all  that  it 

150 


AT   THE    THRESHOLD  151 

would  imply.  He  never  went  farther  than  the  corner, 
and  by  and  by  his  hope  of  seeing  her  that  afternoon  died 
away  completely. 

He  had  come  out  prepared  to  stay  away  until  dinner- 
time, but  now  he  thought  he  would  go  home  to  tea,  and 
come  back  immediately  afterwards.  His  absence  would 
not  then  be  questioned  until  he  came  back  at  night. 
They  did  not  like  him  to  stay  away  from  dinner  too 
often,  but  he  had  not  done  so  for  some  time,  and  if  he 
said  that  he  was  going  out  into  the  woods  they  would 
not  seek  to  prevent  him. 

He  was  all  at  sea  with  himself  as  at  last  he  dragged 
himself  away  from  the  empty  place,  which  might  still  be 
brightened  by  her  coming,  with  many  backward  looks 
and  much  lingering.  He  knew  that  something  that  could 
easily  be  explained  had  kept  her,  and  yet  he  was  des- 
perately unhappy  because  she  had  failed  him.  Did  she 
want  him  as  much  as  he  wanted  her?  Would  anything 
in  the  world  have  kept  him  away  if  he  had  promised  to 
come  to  her?  Supposing  she  should  not  come  at  all  that 
day !  He  shrank  from  the  thought  of  the  long  night  that 
would  divide  him  from  her,  if  he  had  not  seen  her  before 
it  fell.  But  his  spirit  was  tired  with  suspense.  The 
world  seemed  full  of  trouble  and  disappointment  as  he 
made  his  way  homewards. 

The  one  thing  he  never  thought  of  was  that,  some- 
how, their  meeting  of  the  morning  might  have  been  dis- 
covered, and  she  had  been  forbidden  to  meet  him  again. 
They  had  met,  and  promised  to  meet  again,  in  all  the 
innocence  of  their  youth.  If  their  elders  had  known  of 


152  SIR    HARRY 

it,  it  would  have  spoilt  their  happy  secret,  but  that  was 
all.  It  had  not  occurred  to  Harry  that  it  would  spoil 
anything  else. 

They  had  tea  on  the  terrace  outside  the  drawing-room. 
It  was  always  the  same  at  home.  Day  after  day,  all 
the  year  round,  it  was  always  the  same.  In  winter  the 
tea  tables  were  placed  near  one  of  the  two  fires  that 
warmed  the  long  room,  at  other  times  near  one  of  the 
windows,  or  in  the  summer  on  the  terrace  outside.  The 
four  of  them  would  sit  round  and  talk,  Lady  Brent 
dispensing  the  tea,  over  which  she  was  very  particular. 
Occasionally  some  one  from  the  Vicarage  would  be  there, 
but  scarcely  ever  anybody  else.  The  friendships  that 
had  formerly  been  between  the  Castle  and  other  big 
houses  within  reach  had  fallen  off,  and  it  was  the  rarest 
thing  for  visitors  to  appear  there. 

It  might  have  been  expected  that,  meeting  like  that, 
day  after  day,  at  formal  meals  as  well  as  at  this  informal 
one,  and  with  no  intrusion  from  the  outer  world  to  break 
the  monotony  of  their  lives,  they  would  have  had  nothing 
to  say  to  one  another.  But  there  was  always  a  great 
deal  to  say.  Wilbraham  read  voluminously,  Lady  Brent 
read,  and  even  Mrs.  Brent  read.  They  talked  of  what 
they  had  read  in  the  papers  and  what  they  had  read  in 
books ;  but  Mrs.  Brent  did  not  take  part  in  the  conversa- 
tion over  what  they  had  read  in  books. 

And  there  was  the  life  immediately  around  them  to 
talk  about.  If  Royd  Castle  was  cut  off  from  the  ordi- 
nary social  intercourse  that  gathers  about  a  large 
country  house,  it  was  by  no  means  divided  from  the 


AT    THE    THRESHOLD  153 

interests  that  depend  upon  ownership.  There  were  a 
few  hundred  people  living  around  it  in  direct  relation- 
ship, and  the  personal  contact  with  them  was  the  closer 
because  it  represented  nearly  all  the  human  interest 
there  was  in  the  life  that  was  led  there.  It  supplied  the 
gossip  which  in  some  form  or  other  is  congenial  to  the 
most  exalted  minds,  and  without  which  little  Mrs.  Brent 
at  least  would  have  found  the  conversation  unbearably 
arid. 

Lady  Brent  visited  among  the  tenantry  assiduously. 
She  was  inclined  to  exercise  authority,  but  could  not 
fairly  be  said  to  be  dictatorial.  They  were  on  their 
best  behaviour  before  her,  but  there  were  few  among 
them  who  had  not  some  kindness  to  remember  from  her. 
Mrs.  Brent  also  visited  them  and  avoided  doing  so  in 
the  company  of  her  mother-in-law  if  she  possibly  could. 
Her  intercourse  with  them  was  on  a  more  intimate  plane. 
Her  position  as  a  great  lady  had  to  be  implicitly  ac- 
cepted, but  if  this  was  done  she  would  sit  and  talk  with 
more  than  mere  affability.  Harry  was  her  chief  subject 
of  conversation,  and  all  the  people  of  Royd  loved  Harry 
and  expected  great  things  of  him.  It  might  have  sur- 
prised Lady  Brent  if  she  had  known  how  clearly  it  was 
in  the  minds  of  those  whom  she  treated  as  her  dependents 
that  she  was  only  exercising  temporary  authority,  and 
how  much  they  looked  forward  to  the  time  when  her  rule 
would  be  over.  This  was  not  because  they  found  it 
irksome,  for  she  ruled  justly  and  considerately.  But 
she  had  ruled  for  a  long  time  and  change  is  pleasant  to 
most  of  us.  Besides,  the  Castle  provided  very  little 


154  SIRHARRY 

variety  of  interest  to  those  who  lived  within  its  shadow. 
It  had  not  always  been  so,  and  it  was  expected  that  it 
would  not  be  so  when  Harry  came  into  his  own. 

Mrs.  Brent  could  sometimes  be  induced  to  talk  about 
the  time  that  was  coming,  if  she  was  flattered  into  a 
state  of  intimacy  and  skilfully  drawn  out.  She  was 
always  careful  not  to  create  an  impression  that  she  and 
Lady  Brent  were  at  all  antagonistic,  but  it  was  under- 
stood by  everybody  that  this  was  so,  the  extent  of  the 
antagonism  was  gauged  to  a  nicety,  and  the  causes  for 
it  were  frequently  discussed  and  generally  agreed 
upon. 

The  fact  that  Mrs.  Brent  derived  from  the  stage  was 
not  actually  known,  but  it  would  have  surprised  nobody 
to  hear  it;  nor  did  her  claims  to  belonging  of  right  to 
the  class  into  which  she  had  married  carry  the  smallest 
weight,  however  much  they  might  be  indulged.  It  was 
generally  agreed  that  Lady  Brent  had  done  the  right 
thing  in  absorbing  her  into  the  atmosphere  of  the  Castle, 
and  in  keeping  her  closely  under  its  influence.  Poor 
little  lady !  She'd  have  liked  to  get  away  from  it  some- 
times, and  small  blame  to  her !  But  'twouldn't  ha'  done. 
She  was  all  right  where  she  was,  and  a  nice  little  thing 
too,  if  you  took  her  the  right  way ;  but  there !  she  wasn't 
what  you'd  expect  for  Sir  Harry's  mother,  and  her 
ladyship's  was  the  only  way  to  keep  him  from  know- 
ing it. 

So  these  remote  but  clear-sighted  and  kindly  people 
judged  of  the  situation  at  the  Castle,  and  on  the  whole 
approved  of  it.  As  for  Harry  himself  they  one  and  all 


AT    THE    THRESHOLD  155 

adored  him.  They  were  the  only  friends  he  had  had 
outside  his  home  from  his  childhood,  and  they  were  real 
friends.  There  was  not  one  of  them,  man,  woman  or 
child,  who  had  not  some  special  feeling  for  him  different 
from  that  of  the  rest.  He  knew  them  all,  and  was  inter- 
ested in  them  all,  with  a  purely  human  sympathy.  When 
the  time  came  for  him  to  take  the  reins,  he  would  be 
dealing  not  with  an  impersonal  aggregate,  but  with 
those  whose  interests  were  also  his ;  and  he  would  be 
regarded  with  a  loyalty  and  affection  which  is  enjoyed 
by  few  landowners. 

Wilbraham  kept  himself  more  to  himself,  as  was  said 
of  him,  but  had  his  friends  too  at  Royd.  It  was  he  who 
brought  Harry's  heart  to  his  mouth  this  afternoon  by 
the  announcement,  made  in  a  casual  voice :  "  There  is  an 
artist  come  to  stay  at  Mrs.  Ivimey's.  He  rejoices  in 
the  name  of  Michael  Angelo  Bastian,  which  ought  to 
mean  that  he  is  a  very  fine  artist ;  but  I've  never  heard 
of  him.  Have  you?" 

"  No,"  said  Lady  Brent,  who  had  been  addressed. 
"  But  I  did  not  know  that  Mrs.  Ivimey  let  rooms.  I 
think  she  should  have  asked  me  first.  Nobody  at  Royd 
has  done  it  hitherto." 

"  I  wonder  how  she  could  get  any  one  to  take  rooms 
in  such  an  out-of-the-way  place  as  hers,"  said  Mrs. 
Brent. 

"  I  can  tell  you  that,"  said  Wilbraham.  "  I  had  it 
all  from  Prout."  Prout  combined  the  occupations  of 
shoemaker  and  postman  at  Royd.  "  Mrs.  Ivimey  has  a 
sister  who  lives  in  London  and  lets  lodgings.  Michael 


156  SIR    HARRY 

Angelo  Bastian  lodges  with  her.  The  rest  is  plain  to 
the  meanest  intelligence." 

Harry  was  faced  with  the  immediate  alternative  of 
acknowledging  that  he  was  aware  of  the  fact  stated  or 
of  affecting  ignorance  of  it.  If  he  kept  silence  now  it 
would  be  deliberate  and  purposeful  silence,  and  he  might 
later  on  be  called  upon  to  explain  it.  He  had  not  faced 
this ;  he  had  not  faced  anything  in  connection  with 
Viola  that  had  to  do  with  the  future. 

Perhaps  he  would  have  spoken,  if  his  mind  had  not 
been  so  full  of  his  late  disappointment,  and  of  his 
reviving  hopes  of  still  meeting  Viola  that  evening.  He 
could  not  bring  himself  immediately  to  the  point  of  mak- 
ing a  decision,  and  when  Lady  Brent  had  next  spoken, 
and  Wilbraham  had  answered  her,  the  time  had  gone  by 
for  him  to  speak.  His  not  having  done  so  directly 
Bastian's  name  had  been  mentioned  would  need  explana- 
tion now.  With  a  mental  shrug  of  the  shoulders  he  kept 
silence,  and  felt  a  warm  delicious  glow  as  he  took  the 
further  step  towards  a  fenced  and  guarded  intimacy 
with  Viola  which  no  one  outside  must  penetrate.  The 
pleasure  of  hugging  his  secret  afresh  swamped  the  half- 
guilty  feeling  which  had  preceded  it  in  his  mind.  He 
did  not  even  ask  himself  why  it  should  have  come  to  him, 
but  his  attitude  towards  his  elders  underwent  a  slight 
change  from  that  moment.  His  youth  was  to  be  de- 
fended from  them;  it  had  its  rights,  which  could  brook 
no  interference. 

As  he  hurried  off  again  to  the  trysting-place,  he  was 
glad  once  more  that  he  had  refrained  from  betraying  his 


AT    THE    THRESHOLD  157 

secret,  as  he  had  been  glad  that  he  had  resisted  the 
impulse  to  confide  in  his  mother  the  night  before.  He 
knew  now  that  they  would  have  disapproved.  Some 
breath  from  the  outside  world,  which  divides  people  up 
into  categories  in  a  way  he  had  never  had  to  take  into 
account,  had  come  to  him  from  the  discussion  he  had 
just  listened  to.  His  grandmother  had  shown  persistent 
concern  at  Mrs.  Ivimey's  having  let  her  rooms  without 
consultation  with  her.  Such  a  thing  had  never  happened 
before  in  Royd.  You  didn't  know  what  sort  of  people 
you  might  get,  if  it  became  a  practice.  An  artist — there 
was  no  great  harm  perhaps  in  an  artist ;  but —  The 
postman  had  evidently  not  known,  or  if  he  had  he  had 
not  told  Wilbraham,  that  this  particular  artist  had 
invaded  the  sanctities  of  Royd  accompanied  by  a  daugh- 
ter, but  Harry  had  felt  instinctively  that  her  presence 
would  have  increased  the  objections  expressed  by  Lady 
Brent  to  Mrs.  Ivimey's  taking  in  anybody  at  all.  It  had 
come  to  him  somehow  that  Viola's  delicious  charm  would 
have  done  nothing  to  recommend  her,  had  she  been 
known,  and  that  his  mother  would  by  no  means  have 
taken  the  confidence  that  it  had  been  in  his  mind  to  make 
to  her  the  night  before  in  the  spirit  in  which  it  would 
have  been  offered. 

The  reasons  for  all  this  were  not  clear  to  him.  He  had 
of  course  no  idea  that  he  was  to  be  preserved  at  all  costs 
from  falling  into  unauthorized  love;  he  had  no  more 
than  a  purely  academic  knowledge  of  what  falling  in  love 
meant,  and  no  idea  as  yet  that  he  was  already  very  deep 
in  it  himself.  There  were  many  things  in  which  his  in- 


158  SIR   HARRY 

clinations  had  clashed  with  the  rules  formulated  by  his 
elders — as,  for  instance,  in  the  matter  of  visits  to  the 
stables,  during  his  early  childhood.  This  was  one  of 
them,  but  he  was  not  to  be  bound  now  by  the  views  of 
his  elders,  and  it  was  not  necessary  to  examine  their 
origin.  There  was  a  vague  discomfort  in  the  idea  that 
he  was  setting  himself  against  them,  but  no  admission  in 
his  mind  that  he  was  in  any  way  wrong  in  doing  so. 
And  even  the  slight  discomfort  was  more  than  balanced 
by  the  feeling  that  his  secret  must  certainly  now  be 
guarded,  which  had  the  effect  of  somehow  bringing  him 
and  Viola  more  closely  together. 

It  had  been  decided  chat  Wilbraham  was  to  seek  out 
the  artist,  and  if  he  found  him  to  be  the  sort  of  person 
who  could  be  asked  to  Royd,  he  was  to  ask  him  there. 
Harry  smiled  to  himself,  as  he  thought  of  the  possi- 
bilities ahead.  He  must  tell  Viola,  and  he  and  she  must 
decide  what  was  to  be  done  about  it.  It  gave  him  a  thrill 
to  think  of  their  deciding  anything  together.  He  quick- 
ened his  steps.  There  were  such  oceans  to  talk  to  her 
about.  He  had  no  doubts  now  about  her  coming  to  meet 
him ;  he  had  almost  persuaded  himself  that  she  would  be 
there  waiting  for  him. 

But  the  green  frame  was  still  empty  of  its  picture, 
as  he  had  left  it  an  hour  before.  The  evening  light  was 
slanting  on  it  now,  giving  warning  that  the  time  they 
would  have  to  spend  together  was  diminishing.  But 
there  were  nearly  two  hours  of  daylight  still.  Surely  she 
would  come  before  the  dusk  fell ! 

He  stretched  himself  under  a  tree,  from  where  he  could 


AT    THE    THRESHOLD  159 

watch  the  place  where  she  would  appear.  His  mood  was 
not  yet  impatient.  She  would  surely  come,  and  in  the 
meantime  he  could  think  about  her. 

He  did  not  think  of  her  as  a  lover  thinks  of  the 
mistress  enthroned  in  his  heart,  to  worship  her  there. 
He  had  not  consciously  enthroned  her  as  yet.  He 
thought  of  her  as  a  wonderful  revelation  of  something 
he  must  surely  have  been  looking  for  all  his  life,  since  it 
was  impossible  now  to  think  of  life  without  her,  She  had 
come  into  his  life,  in  some  way  to  translate  its  meaning 
for  him — for  both  of  them.  She  was  a  revelation  from 
the  good  influences  all  around  him,  as  the  vision  of  the 
fairies  had  been.  He  had  got  as  far  as  that,  and  had 
told  her  so.  It  had  been  very  sweet  to  tell  her  that ;  it 
would  be  sweet  to  tell  her  everything  that  came  into  his 
head.  There  was  nothing  that  he  would  not  want  to  tell 
her,  at  once  and  first  of  all.  In  his  innocence  of  the 
world  and  the  way  of  the  world,  he  had  reached  that 
point  in  love's  pilgrimage  where  the  loved  one  shines  out 
as  the  sweet  vessel  into  which  all  confidences  may  be 
poured,  and  the  desire  is  strong  for  a  common  aim  and 
a  common  vision.  But  he  had  not  reached  the  point, 
which  usually  precedes  it,  of  an  ardent  desfre  for  some 
sort  of  surrender.  Perhaps  it  is  not  true  to  say  that 
he  had  not  yet  enthroned  Viola  in  his  heart,  for  she  sat 
there  the  centre  of  everything.  But  she  sat  there  apart, 
as  if  she  had  mounted  the  steps  of  the  throne  without 
his  hand  to  raise  her.  She  must  descend  again  and  stand 


160  SIR   HARRY 

with  him  on  the  level  ground  of  mutual  desire  before  her 
seat  should  be  secure  and  acknowledged. 

But  as  he  waited  for  her,  and  the  desire  for  her  sheer 
presence  became  stronger  and  stronger,  he  was  being  led 
towards  that  desire  for  surrender.  The  sweetest  thing 
now  would  be,  not  to  pour  himself  out  in  confidences  to 
her,  which  would  still  be  very  sweet,  but  to  obtain  from 
her  that  look  or  that  word  which  would  move  him  to 
the  depths. 

He  went  over  in  his  mind  the  looks  and  words  he  had 
received  from  her,  and  thirsted  for  more.  The  very 
first  time  their  eyes  had  met,  before  a  word  had  been 
spoken  between  them,  she  had  looked  at  him,  with  some- 
thing behind  the  look  with  which  his  memory  blissfully 
played.  Once  or  twice  that  morning,  by  the  pool,  and 
again  when  she  had  turned  towards  him  and  stood 
gazing,  far  off,  there  had  been  something  that  thrilled 
him  with  happiness  to  remember.  And  there  had  been 
tones  in  her  voice,  little  things  she  had  said — he  dwelt 
upon  them  all,  and  longed  to  draw  more  of  them  from 
her.  He  would  say  this  to  her ;  greatly  daring,  he  would 
say  that.  And  she  would  reply ;  or  if  she  spoke  no 
answer  he  would  watch  her  face,  and  gain  courage  from 
it  for  speeches  still  more  daring. 

But  an  hour  passed,  and  she  had  not  come  to  him. 

The  sun  was  sinking  now.  Outside  the  wood,  under 
the  open  sky,  its  rays  would  be  drawing  the  shadow  of 
the  rocks  and  the  gorse  across  the  close  turf;  there 
would  be  a  soft  golden  radiance  in  all  the  air,  and  on 


AT    THE    THRESHOLD  161 

the  bright  distant  pavement  of  the  sea.  But  here  under 
the  trees  it  was  already  dusk,  and  a  gloom  descended  on 
his  heart,  as  he  thought  of  the  sunset,  from  the  sight  of 
which  he  was  shut  off. 

It  was  like  a  parable  to  him.  He  had  never  before 
missed  the  glory  of  a  sunset,  if  he  was  out  of  doors. 
The  woods  had  never  kept  him  from  that  enlarging  sight. 
They  were  for  other  times ;  not  less  loved  then,  but  now 
seeming  to  hold  him  enchained  in  a  menacing  gloom. 
And  so,  just  out  of  his  reach  was  the  solace  for  which 
he  craved,  but  in  place  of  it  darkness  was  settling  down 
over  his  heart,  and  trouble  clutching  at  it. 

But  he  would  not  go  out  of  the  wood.  She  might  come 
still.  The  thought  brought  him  no  relief ;  his  long  watch 
had  emptied  his  mind  of  the  springs  of  hope.  But  still 
he  waited  for  her.  If  she  did  come,  she  must  find  him 
there. 

The  darkness  had  settled  down  now.  There  was  a 
fading  light  in  the  sky  that  could  be  seen  here  and  there 
through  the  thick  canopy  of  leaves,  but  beneath  them 
only  eyes  that  had  grown  used  to  the  darkness  could 
have  descried  anything. 

The  boy  lay  stretched  at  length  on  the  grass,  his  face 
to  the  ground,  utterly  weary  and  utterly  miserable.  He 
had  no  strength  to  tear  himself  from  this  unhappy  spot 
and  go  home;  he  only  wanted  to  lie  there  in  his  pain, 
which  still  had  a  little  of  sweetness  in  it  as  long  as  he 
lingered  in  the  place  where  he  had  last  seen  her. 

He  never  moved.     His  body  was  as  still  as  on  that 


162  SIRHARRY 

night  in  which  he  had  kept  his  eager  vigil,  and  at  last 
been  rewarded.  But  it  was  the  stillness  of  exhaustion. 
No  hope  was  left  to  him  now. 

But  his  ears,  trained  since  his  childhood  to  catch  the 
lightest  whispers  of  nature,  and  to  interpret  them,  alert 
in  spite  of  himself,  heard  something  that  was  not  of  the 
life  sinking  to  rest  around  him.  He  raised  himself  sud- 
denly, almost  violently,  and  peered  into  the  darkness, 
all  his  senses  once  more  on  edge. 

And  out  of  the  darkness  she  came,  no  more  than  a 
moth-glimmer  flitting  towards  him.  A  wild  joy  filled 
him,  down  to  the  very  depths  of  his  being.  He  sprang 
up  and  ran  towards  her. 

She  gave  a  little  cry  that  was  half  a  sob,  and  flew  to 
his  embrace.  His  arms  were  around  her,  and  his  lips  on 
hers.  In  all  the  long  hours  through  which  he  had 
yearned  for  her,  and  played  with  the  thought  of  her 
sweetness,  no  such  blissful  end  to  his  waiting  had  entered 
his  mind  as  this. 


CHAPTER    XIII 

THE    TEMPLE 

HER  face  was  wet  with  her  tears,  but  he  could  just  see 
her  smile  glimmering  through  the  darkness.  His  eyes 
were  as  hungry  as  his  lips.  That  sweet  flower-like  face, 
with  the  tender  eyes  and  the  mouth  a-quiver — would  he 
ever  be  able  to  gaze  his  fill  of  it? 

She  made  no  effort  to  draw  herself  from  him,  but 
nestled  to  him,  and  poured  out  a  broken  sobbing  ex- 
planation of  her  absence  to  which  he  hardly  listened. 
What  did  it  matter  how  she  had  been  prevented  from 
coming  to  him,  since  she  had  longed  for  him  as  he  had 
longed  for  her,  and  was  with  him  now  ? 

He  kissed  away  her  tears ;  she  had  not  returned  his 
kisses  since  her  first  unconsidered  impelled  surrender, 
but  was  still  sweetly  receptive  of  them.  "  Oh,  I  ought 
not  to,"  she  said,  smiling  at  him.  "  But  I  do  love 
you,  and  I  have  wanted  you  so." 

Yes,  this  was  love,  of  which  he  had  never  consciously, 
thought.     She  had  spoken  the  word  first,  but  he  knew 
before  she  had  spoken  it  that  all  his  joy  and  all  his  pain 
had  sprung  from  that  source,  and  exulted  in  his  new 
knowledge. 

"  I  love  you  too — Viola,"  he  said,  lingering  caress- 
ingly on  her  name.  "  Oh,  how  I  love  you !  " 

163 


164  SIR   HARRY 

He  drew  a  long  breath,  and  they  gazed  silently  into 
one  another's  eyes,  to  find  in  them  what  no  speech  could 
utter.  The  melting  sweetness  of  her  gaze  filled  him  with 
trembling  rapture.  The  secret  of  life  and  all  its  beauty 
which  he  thought  he  had  divined,  now  seemed  to  have 
depths  beneath  depths  of  meaning,  beyond  mental 
capacity  to  grasp,  in  their  almost  intolerable  rapture. 
With  a  sigh  they  released  each  other,  and  speech  flowed 
to  their  relief,  broken  and  melodious,  bearing  them  again 
to  the  surface  of  their  bliss. 

They  withdrew  a  little  from  the  path  where  they  had 
met,  and  told  over  the  tale  of  their  love.  By  and  by 
they  moved  along  it  again,  in  a  common  impulse  to 
escape  from  the  thick  darkness  of  the  wood,  and  gain 
the  freedom  of  the  starry  night. 

They  passed  the  cottage  where  Viola  dwelt  and  never 
gave  it  a  thought.  At  a  later  time  they  confessed  to 
one  another  that  they  had  no  recollection  of  passing  it 
at  all.  They  were  so  wrapped  up  in  one  another  that 
nothing  and  nobody  else  in  the  wide  world  mattered  to 
them  at  that  moment.  But  when  they  had  emerged  from 
the  wood  they  turned  aside,  instinctively  perhaps,  to 
escape  prying  eyes,  and  passed  slowly  along  the  path 
which  they  had  taken  the  afternoon  before. 

After  the  darkness  of  the  wood,  the  sky,  moonless, 
but  lit  by  the  innumerable  lanterns  of  the  stars,  had  the 
effect  of  brightness.  Their  young  faces  could  be  plainly 
seen  in  this  soft  radiance,  and  they  stood  to  worship 
one  another  afresh. 

"  You're  so  beautiful,  Viola !  How  beautiful  you 
are !  I  must  have  been  blind  not  to  see  it  before." 


THE    TEMPLE  165 

"  I  saw  that  you  were  from  the  very  first." 

Here  were  two  statements  of  surpassing  interest. 
They  had  to  be  enlarged  upon  and  explained,  with  new 
and  immeasurable  content  gained  from  the  disclosures 
that  were  made.  Nothing  had  ever  happened  like  it 
before.  They  were  pioneers  in  the  uncharted  country  of 
love,  and  the  springs  at  which  they  refreshed  themselves, 
and  the  flowers  brushed  by  their  feet  as  they  wandered 
through  it,  had  been  waiting  for  them  unseen  and  un- 
guessed  at  since  the  world  began.  The  wonder  of  it 
increased. 

They  sat  down  on  a  low  rock,  jutting  through  the 
fern,  and  gave  themselves  up  to  the  miracle  of  their  dis- 
coveries. Harry  held  her  hands  in  his,  and  his  eyes  were 
never  off  her  face,  except  when  he  looked  out  into  space 
as  if  trying  to  fathom  something  that  passed  his  com- 
prehension. Sometimes  they  drew  together  by  an  ir- 
resistible mutual  impulse,  but  every  kiss  he  gave  her  was 
a  consecration.  She  was  too  beautiful  and  too  sacred 
a  thing  not  to  be  treated  with  high  reverence.  Instinc- 
tively he  held  himself  back,  though  without  cessation  he 
thirsted  for  her  sweetness,  and  her  lips  assuaged  his 
thirst  only  so  long  as  his  were  upon  them. 

For  more  than  an  hour  they  sat  there,  and  the  time 
seemed  as  nothing.  Then  she  sprang  up  suddenly  and 
said  she  must  go  in.  She  had  only  meant  just  to  run 
out  and  tell  him  why  she  had  not  been  able  to  come  in 
the  afternoon.  As  she  said  it,  a  voice  was  heard  calling: 
"  Viola !  Viola !  "  out  of  the  darkness.  She  raised  her- 
self hurriedly  to  kiss  him,  of  her  own  accord,  and  tearing 
her  hands  from  his  ran  off  without  a  word. 


166  SIRHARRY 

Harry  stood  for  a  long  time  where  she  had  left  him, 
while  the  unhurrying  stars  marched  on  to  their  celestial 
music  and  looked  down  upon  him,  a  creature  of  the 
moment,  who  had  yet  found  his  way  into  the  courts  of 
eternity.  He  looked  up  at  them,  and  in  the  rapture  of 
the  revelation  that  had  come  to  him  worshipped  anew  in 
the  temple  whose  gates  he  had  besieged  all  his  life.  It 
was  for  this  that  he  had  been  born ;  it  was  for  this  that 
the  heavens  were  lit,  and  the  earth  put  forth  its  beauty. 
At  last  he  had  been  admitted  into  the  innermost  sanc- 
tuary of  the  temple,  and  the  secret  of  life  was  his. 

He  moved  slowly  towards  the  cottage  which  enshrined 
his  love,  unable  to  leave  its  hallowed  precincts. 

There  were  lights  in  the  lower  windows,  and  presently 
in  that  upper  one  which  he  knew  to  be  Viola's.  Perhaps 
she  knew  that  he  would  linger  out  there  under  the  stars, 
for  she  came  to  the  window  and  stood  there  for  a  long 
time,  and  before  she  left  it  she  kissed  the  tips  of  her 
fingers  and  threw  her  message  out  into  the  darkness. 

Presently  her  light  went  out.  Harry  laid  himself 
down  on  the  warm  turf.  He  would  sleep  there  that 
night,  as  he  had  sometimes  slept  out  in  the  open  on  warm 
summer  nights  before,  but  not  with  that  sense  of  bliss 
enfolding  him.  He  would  keep  guard  over  her,  and  per- 
haps, when  the  stars  had  paced  onwards  in  their  western 
march,  and  the  moon  had  arisen,  she  would  come  to  the 
window  again,  as  she  had  come  the  night  before.  He 
had  told  her  that  he  had  seen  her  there.  He  thought  she 
would  come.  And  surely  her  presence  would  make  itself 


THE    TEMPLE  167 

felt  through  his  dreams,  and  he  would  awake  to  see  her ! 
It  was  not  possible  that  he  should  sleep  while  she  was 
awake  near  him. 

He  pillowed  his  head  on  the  fern  and  slept,  and  for  a 
long  time  there  was  silence,  on  the  moor  and  in  the  cot- 
tage, while  the  stars  watched  over  them  and  waited  for 

their  waking. 

i 

It  happened  just  as  Harry  had  thought  when  he  laid 
himself  down  to  sleep.  He  awoke  to  find  the  moor 
flooded  by  the  bright  radiance  of  the  moon,  which  shone 
also  upon  the  front  of  the  cottage  and  the  window  of 
Viola's  room.  And  she  was  there,  with  her  dusky  hair 
about  her  face  and  on  her  shoulders,  and  with  some  dark 
wrap  round  her,  so  that  her  face  alone,  and  her  hands, 
were  softly  illumined. 

He  arose  and  went  towards  her.  She  saw  him  coming, 
for  she  gave  a  little  start,  and  then  sat  motionless  again 
until  he  stood  just  beyond  the  garden  fence,  where  he 
could  see  her  face,  though  his  was  in  shadow. 

He  stood  there ;  neither  of  them  spoke  and  neither  of 
them  moved,  but  drank  their  fill  of  one  another's  pres- 
ence. They  made  no  motion  of  farewell  when  at  last 
Harry  moved  away  and  his  form  was  lost  in  the  shadows 
of  the  wood. 

He  could  go  home  now  and  sleep,  with  his  great  happi- 
ness to  bear  him  company.  On  the  morrow  he  would  see 
her  again,  and  new  happiness  would  be  his  lot. 


CHAPTER    XIV 

BASTIAN 

WILBRAHAM  picked  his  way  along  the  woodland  path, 
humming  a  tune.  His  only  preoccupation  for  the  mo- 
ment was  to  preserve  his  shoes  from  getting  wet,  for 
much  rain  had  fallen,  and  there  were  spongy  patches 
to  be  avoided. 

Wilbraham  disliked  exercise  of  almost  every  sort. 
His  bad  times,  in  the  winter,  were  when  he  felt  impelled 
to  go  for  a  walk,  which  was  for  at  least  an  hour  every 
afternoon  unless  the  weather  absolutely  forbade.  In  the 
summer  he  did  not  mind  it  so  much,  except  when  the 
heat  tried  him;  but  he  would  always  have  preferred  to 
spend  his  leisure  with  a  book  in  the  library,  or  in  the 
garden. 

He  had  long  ceased  to  accompany  Harry  in  any  out 
of  door  expedition.  They  saw  quite  enough  of  one 
another  indoors,  and  their  respective  preferences  in  the 
matter  of  pace  were  so  in  opposition  that  it  was  a 
pleasure  to  neither  of  them  to  take  the  air  together. 
Mrs.  Brent  sometimes  accompanied  him  in  his  constitu- 
tionals, but  he  seldom  invited  her  to  do  so.  They  also 
saw  enough  of  one  another  indoors,  or  at  least  he  saw 
enough  of  her.  He  liked  her,  but  she  did  not  interest 
him  in  conversation,  while  she  did  expect  him  to  interest 

168 


B  A  S  T  I  A  N  169 

her.  He  was  quite  capable  of  doing  so,  but  the  effort 
spoilt  the  mild  refreshment  that  came  from  leaving  his 
brain  to  wander  where  it  would  while  his  body  was  being 
gently  exercised.  He  found  abundant  interest  in  the 
thoughts  of  his  well-stored  mind,  and  sometimes  stayed 
out  for  longer  than  he  had  intended  because  he  had 
fallen  into  such  an  absorbing  train  of  speculation. 

Yet  this  man,  who  lived  his  monotonous  life  with  books 
as  his  chief  recreation  and  his  intercourse  with  his 
fellows  narrowed  to  the  few  with  whom  he  lived,  was 
very  fond  of  company.  His  walk  this  afternoon,  longer 
than  he  usually  imposed  upon  himself  in  the  heat  of 
summer,  was  cheered  by  having  an  object  other  than 
that  of  keeping  his  liver  from  troubling  him.  He  was 
going  to  make  a  new  acquaintance.  This  artist,  -with 
the  rather  absurd  name,  who  was  lodging  with  Mrs. 
Ivimey,  might  possibly  be  a  man  of  intelligence,  with 
views  upon  the  art  he  practised ;  or  he  might  be  a  mere 
commercial  dauber.  If  he  proved  to  be  a  man  of  intelli- 
gence, it  would  be  agreeable  to  exchange  views  with  him, 
for  after  books  Wilbraham  liked  pictures,  better  even 
than  he  liked  music.  Or  rather,  his  taste  for  music  had 
become  a  little  atrophied,  since  he  was  cut  off  from  en- 
joyment of  it,  while  art  could  always  be  read  about,  and 
there  were  always  pictures  or  reproductions  of  pictures 
to  be  seen. 

He  reached  the  cottage  on  the  outskirts  of  the  wood, 
and  looked  about  him  with  pleasure  before  he  entered  it. 
The  great  open  space  upon  which  it  faced  was  a  refresh- 
ment after  the  wooded  environment  of  the  Castle,  and 


170  SIRHARRY 

the  few  buildings  that  enlivened  this  point  relieved  it  of 
the  impression  of  loneliness  which  was  unpleasing  to  a 
man  of  Wilbraham's  fibre.  It  was  half  a  mile  further 
by  the  path  he  had  taken  than  by  the  one  he  usually  took 
if  his  humour  led  him  towards  the  common,  but  he 
thought  as  he  stood  there  with  his  hat  off,  so  that  the 
breeze  could  cool  his  brow,  that  he  would  come  there  more 
often,  even  if  Mr.  Bastian  should  not  turn  out  to  be  the 
sort  of  person  that  he  might  want  to  come  for. 

A  well-satisfied  gentleman  he  looked  as  he  stood  there 
leaning  on  his  stick,  his  brow  rather  bald,  his  presence 
on  the  verge  of  portliness,  though  he  was  not  otherwise 
of  the  habit  of  body  that  runs  to  flesh.  The  look  of 
discontent  that  Grant  had  remarked  about  him  on  a  first 
acquaintance  was  absent  now.  In  Kis  suit  of  dark  grey 
flannel,  with  his  black-ribboned  straw  hat,  he  had  some- 
thing of  a  clerical  air,  and  as  he  turned  towards  the 
cottage  his  unusually  sharp  ears  heard  the  sound  of  hur- 
ried movement  through  the  open  window  of  a  downstairs 
room,  and  a  voice  uttering  the  words :  "  The  parson  come 
to  call !  Good  Lord,  I'm  lost ;  I  can't  get  out." 

He  stood  chuckling  to  himself  as  he  waited  for  an 
answer  to  his  knock.  The  door  stood  open.  The  artist 
could  not  have  escaped  him  if  his  fears  had  been  justi- 
fied. This  pleased  his  humour,  especially  as  he  antici- 
pated the  pleasure  of  bringing  relief  to  him. 

Mrs.  Ivimey  did  not  respond  to  his  summons,  and  as 
he  was  preparing  to  knock  again,  a  door  on  the  left  of 
the  little  passage  opened  and  the  artist  came  out  to 
him. 


B  A  S  T  I A  N  171 

*'  I'm  afraid  Mrs.  Ivimey  is  out  at  the  back 
somewhere,"  he  said.  "  Shall  I  go  and  call  her  for 

you?" 

"  Thanks,  it's  you  I've  come  to  see,  if  you're  Mr. 
Bastian,"  said  Mr.  Wilbraham.  "  I'm  tutor  to  young 
Sir  Harry  Brent  at  the  Castle.  We  heard  you  were 
here,  and  as  we  don't  get  many  visitors  at  Royd  I  came 
to  look  you  up." 

Bastian's  face  changed.  "  That's  very  kind  of  you," 
he  said.  "  Do  come  in." 

He  led  the  way  into  the  little  sitting-room,  and  Wil- 
braham followed  him  with  the  feeling  that  his  visit  had 
justified  itself. 

Bastian  was  a  tall  thin  man  with  a  shock  of  untidy 
grey  hair,  but  a  curiously  young  face.  His  eyes  were 
very  light  blue.  He  had  a  half-whimsical,  half-appealing 
look,  as  if  he  was  in  a  constant  state  of  amusement  at 
himself  and  was  begging  not  to  be  taken  too  seriously. 
The  upper  part  of  his  face  was  firmly  and  delicately 
modelled,  but  his  mouth  was  indeterminate  and  his  chin 
weak.  He  was  atrociously  dressed,  in  an  old  discoloured 
suit  of  light  grey  flannel,  and  a  pair  of  stained  canvas 
shoes,  and  he  wore  no  collar;  but  he  did  not  apologize 
for  his  appearance.  Wilbraham  judged  him  to  be  about 
forty-five,  but  discovered  later  that  he  was  three  or  four 
years  younger. 

Mrs.  Ivimey's  parlour  was  furnished  with  the  custom- 
ary mixture  of  old  good  things  and  bad  new  ones.  A 
few  canvases  stood  with  their  faces  against  the  wall,  and 
a  half-finished  picture  of  a  flaming  sunset  over  the  moor 


172  SIR   HARRY 

and  the  sea  was  propped  on  the  mantelpiece.  Wil- 
braham  threw  a  glance  at  it  as  he  entered,  but  could  not 
make  up  his  mind  whether  it  was  going  to  be  a  good 
picture  or  an  exceptionally  bad  one.  There  were  some 
books  on  the  round  table  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  as 
well  as  some  of  the  untidy  paraphernalia  of  an  artist. 
On  a  smaller  table  in  the  window  was  a  bottle  of  whisky, 
a  glass  and  a  jug  of  water,  and  by  the  side  of  the  table 
was  a  shabby  but  comfortable  looking  easy  chair,  upon 
which  was  a  book  face  downwards.  The  room  was  full 
of  the  odour  of  strong  tobacco. 

"  I'm  afraid  it's  rather  like  a  bar-parlour,"  said 
Bastian.  "  I  have  a  horrible  habit  of  smoking  shag, 
which  some  people  object  to  strongly.  Will  you  have 
some  whisky?  " 

He  looked  sideways  at  Wilbraham  as  he  spoke,  with 
an  engaging  smile.  There  was  something  attractive  and 
appealing  about  him;  he  was  rather  like  a  naughty 
child,  caught  in  the  act — indoors  on  a  summer  afternoon 
with  his  shag  tobacco  and  his  whisky  and  his  advanced 
dishabille.  Wilbraham  was  one  of  those  who  hated  the 
reek  of  shag,  but  he  forgave  him  for  it  readily  and  took 
out  his  own  cigarette  case.  He  did  not  reply  to  the 
offer  of  whisky. 

i  "  I'll  go  and  get  you  a  glass,"  said  Bastian.  "  I'm 
afraid  there's  no  soda-water,  but  it's  good  whisky  and 
better  with  water." 

He  went  out  of  the  room,  and  Wilbraham  stood  with 
his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  whisky  bottle,  and  a  queer  look 
in  them,  half  of  eagerness,  half  of  repulsion. 


B  A  S  T  I A  N  173 

Bastian  was  away  longer  than  it  would  have  taken 
him  to  get  a  glass,  and  when  he  returned  he  had  on  a 
collar  and  a  flowing  brightly  coloured  tie.  He  now 
looked  like  an  artist,  and  not  so  much  like  a  broken- 
down  gentleman-loafer. 

"  Say  when !  "  he  said,  pouring  out  the  whisky,  and 
Wilbraham  said  when,  but  not  immediately. 

"  I  get  tired  of  painting,"  said  Bastian.  "  It's  very 
hot  out  there  on  the  moor,  and  I  didn't  bring  a  sketching 
umbrella  with  me.  I  thought  I'd  have  a  lazy  time  with  a 
book.  '  David  Copperfield.'  One  of  the  best  books,  I 
consider."  He  held  his  head  aside  as  he  looked  at 
Wilbraham. 

Wilbraham  had  taken  his  first  sip  of  whisky.  It  was 
only  a  sip,  but  his  face  seemed  to  expand  under  it. 
His  heart  also  expanded  towards  a  Dickens  enthusiast, 
and  for  a  time  they  talked  about  Dickens,  and  found 
themselves  always  in  encouraging  agreement. 

"  It's  a  pleasure  to  have  somebody  to  talk  to,"  said 
Bastian.  "  I  love  being  in  the  country  and  I  hate  being 
in  London.  I  came  down  here  to  be  as  far  away  from 
London  as  possible,  but  there's  no  doubt  one  does 
want  human  intercourse.  I'm  devoted  to  my  little 
girl,  who's  here  with  me;  but  one  wants  men  to  talk 
to." 

"  Oh,  you've  got  a  daughter  with  you,"  said  Wil- 
braham. He  had  been  considering  all  the  time,  under- 
neath the  conversation,  whether  or  not  Bastian  could  be 
introduced  to  Royd.  He  was  a  gentleman :  that  was 
obvious.  But  it  was  equally  obvious  that  he  had  shed 


174  SIRHARRY 

some  of  the  customs  usually  followed  by  gentlemen. 
Would  his  innate  breeding  carry  him  through,  with 
women — with  Lady  Brent?  With  a  man,  or  at  least 
with  one  who  prided  himself  on  being  able  to  see  beneath 
the  surface,  the  shocking  old  clothes  and  the  shag  to- 
bacco would  make  no  difference.  Then  there  was  the 
whisky.  Wilbraham  had  rather  more  than  a  suspicion 
that  Bastian's  case  was  not  so  very  different  from  his 
own :  that  whisky  meant  a  good  deal  to  Bastian.  There 
were  signs  of  it  on  his  smooth  child-like  face — a  lack  of 
clearness  in  a  skin  that  was  meant  to  be  unusually 
clear,  a  slackness  of  muscle,  a  look  in  the  eye  and  in 
the  droop  of  the  mouth;  and  the  second — or  possibly 
the  third — allowance  that  Bastian  had  poured  into  his 
glass  had  exceeded  by  a  good  half  inch  the  not  meagre 
allowance  that  Wilbraham  had  accepted  in  his  own. 
Perhaps  it  might  lead  to  complications  to  invite  him  to 
Royd.  If  Wilbraham  should  decide  not  to,  the  daughter 
might  be  made  an  excuse. 

"  She's  a  dear  child,"  said  Bastian.  "  Her  mother's 
dead.  She  was  one  in  a  thousand."  He  sighed.  "  Viola 
and  I  are  everything  to  one  another.  We're  scarcely 
ever  parted,  except  when  we're  at  work.  She  has  to  earn 
money,  poor  child,  and  neither  of  us  manages  to  earn 
very  much.  Still,  we're  happy  together,  and  happiest  of 
all  when  we  leave  the  streets  behind  us  and  get  out  into 
the  country." 

He  was  revealing  himself  as  one  of  those  people  who 
like  to  pour  themselves  out  about  their  own  affairs,  not 
so  much  out  of  egotism  as  from  an  impulse  to  show 


B  A  S  T  I  A  N  175 

confidence  towards  their  hearers,  to  establish  relations 
which  shall  rest  upon  no  misunderstanding,  in  which 
nothing  shall  be  kept  back. 

Wilbraham  was  without  that  impulse,  but  he  was  also 
without  any  large  share  of  egotism.  He  was  interested 
in  other  people,  and  usually  preferred  that  they  should 
talk  about  themselves,  since  few  people  are  interesting 
upon  any  other  subject.  He  had  some  curiosity  about 
Bastian's  history,  which  seemed  to  have  had  contradic- 
tions in  it,  when  his  refinement  of  speech  and  manner  was 
compared  with  his  confessed  and  apparent  indigence, 
which  was  rather  below  that  to  which  men  of  birth  and 
breeding  sink,  even  if  they  are  without  the  earning 
capacity. 

"  How  old  is  your  daughter?  "  he  asked,  a  little  con- 
fused between  the  mention  of  her  as  a  child  and  that  of 
her  work. 

"  Sixteen  or  seventeen,"  said  Bastian.  "  I  can't  quite 
remember  which,  and  I  don't  particularly  want  to.  I 
don't  suppose  I  shall  keep  her  with  me  for  many  years. 
She's  a  very  beautiful  girl.  So  was  her  mother.  And 
gentle  and  sweet  and  good  too — both  of  them.  Ah, 
whatever  I've  missed  in  life — whatever  mistakes  I've 
made — I've  had  that.  There's  nothing  in  this  world 
like  a  good  and  beautiful  woman, — *  A  lovely  apparition, 
sent  to  be  a  moment's  ornament  ' — how  does  it  go  on? 
I  can't  keep  these  things  in  my  head." 

Wilbraham  threw  a  look  at  Bastian's  glass,  of  which 
the  contents  were  now  reduced  by  half.  His  speech 
showed  no  sign  of  deterioration — he  was  evidently  one 


176  SIRHARRY 

of  those  people  who  could  "  carry  their  liquor  " — but 
Wilbraham  recognized  his  state  as  one  in  which  the 
ordinary  dictates  of  reticence  would  be  considerably 
relaxed. 

His  own  glass  was  nearly  as  full  as  before.  He  could 
quite  easily  have  gone  away  and  left  it  there.  He  felt 
that  the  small  amount  he  had  already  drunk  had  done 
him  a  vast  amount  of  good,  enlightened  his  brain  and 
stimulated  his  body.  He  had  an  impulse  of  pity  towards 
Bastian,  who  was  under  the  influence  of  the  desire  from 
which  he  had  emancipated  himself,  and  of  self-congratu- 
lation at  his  own  freedom.  Thank  God  that  he  could 
drink  what  was  good  for  him,  and  stop  there.  He  was 
inclined  to  like  Bastian  exceedingly.  It  might  be  pos- 
sible, if  he  got  to  know  him  better,  to  help  him  out  of 
the  morass  into  which  he  had  fallen.  It  seemed  probable 
that  the  state  of  poverty  to  which  he  had  come  was 
owing  to  habits  of  intemperance.  A  man  who  had  had 
the  same  inclinations  and  might  have  been  brought  under 
by  them,  but  had  overcome  them  instead,  would  be  the 
right  man  to  help  another,  if  he  could  gain  his  confi- 
dence. And  Bastian  seemed  to  be  in  the  mood  to  give 
confidence. 

"  I'm  afraid  I  don't  know  your  name  as  an  artist," 
said  Wilbraham  with  a  glance  at  the  picture  on  the 
mantelpiece.  "  But  it's  years  since  I  went  to  an  exhibi- 
tion. I'm  interested  in  art,  though,  and  have  read  a 
good  deal  about  the  modern  movements." 

"  Art !  "  echoed  Bastian.  "  There's  nothing  like  it,  is 
there?  The  older  I  get  the  more  I  love  it.  Poetry, 


B  A  S  T  I  A  N  177 

music,  painting — everything.  To  tell  you  the  truth,  art 
has  been  my  downfall." 

Wilbraham  felt  some  surprise.  He  had  thought  that 
if  Bastian  had  been  through  any  experience  that  might 
be  described  as  a  downfall,  it  had  been  from  other 
causes.  "  Well,  if  you've  followed  it  when  you  might 
have  been  doing  something  else  that  would  have  brought 
you  more  money,"  he  said,  "  I  don't  know  that  you're  so 
much  to  be  pitied.  If  I  had  the  gift  for  painting,  which 
I  haven't  at  all,  I'd  rather  do  what  you're  doing  now, 
than  get  rich." 

Bastian  laughed.  "  I'm  afraid  I  haven't  much  gift 
either,"  he  said.  "  I'm  a  rotten  artist,  and  I'm  a  rotten 
musician,  and  I'm  a  rotten  poet.  I've  tried  to  make  my 
living  out  of  all  three ;  but  perhaps  you  might  say  that 
I  haven't  tried  very  hard.  I  love  'em  all  too  much. 
It's  rotten  to  have  to  make  your  living  out  of  what  you 
love.  You  want  to  enjoy  it,  not  to  practise  it,  unless 
you've  got  a  turn  that  way.  You  don't  have  to  be  a 
singer  yourself  to  enjoy  other  people's  singing;  it 
doesn't  follow  that  you  can  paint  good  pictures  because 
you  know  a  bad  one  when  you  see  it.  There  ought  to  be 
scholarships  at  the  Universities  for  people  with  a  genius 
for  contemplation,  and  life  fellowships  to  follow  them 
up." 

"  The  holders  of  life  fellowships  have  sometimes  been 
known  to  practise  contemplation  to  an  excessive  extent," 
said  Wilbraham. 

Bastian  laughed  heartily.  "  That's  rather  good,"  he 
said.  "But  what  a  pleasant  life,  eh?  These  jolly 


178  SIRHARRY 

places — and  plenty  of  good  company,  and  good  wine ! 
Why  should  that  happy  lot  be  reserved  for  people  who 
happened  to  interest  themselves  in  one  or  two  subjects, 
out  of  all  that  there  are  to  interest  one,  in  their  extreme 
youth?  I  suppose  you  were  at  Oxford  or  Cambridge  in 
those  happy  days  of  long  ago?  " 

"  Cambridge,"  said  Wilbraham.    "  I  was  at  Christ's." 

"  We  must  have  been  there  about  the  same  time.  I 
was  at  Magdalene — a  nice  snug  little  college,  and  becom- 
ing quite  an  intelligent  one,  from  what  I've  heard.  But 
I  haven't  been  there  since  I  came  down.  They  wouldn't 
be  very  proud  of  me  now,  I'm  afraid.  One  or  two  touts 
or  stablemen  might  recognize  me  perhaps.  They  had 
plenty  of  money  out  .of  me  when  I  had  it.  I  don't  belong 
to  that  life  any  more." 

He  had  a  sudden  mournful  droop,  and  drank  what 
was  left  in  his  glass.  Wilbraham  had  lost  the  impres- 
sion that  he  was  much  affected  by  what  he  had  drunk, 
but  it  returned  now.  That  drop  into  self-pitying  de- 
pression immediately  after  smiling  excitement  told  its 
tale.  His  own  sobriety  was  indicated  by  his  glass,  still 
two-thirds  full.  He  had  half  a  mind  to  remark  upon 
Bastian's  helping  himself  to  another  stiff  peg,  which 
he  did  with  a  perfectly  steady  hand.  But  he  did  not 
know  him  well  enough  yet;  the  time  for  that  sort  of 
sympathy  had  not  yet  come. 

But  he  was  more  than  ever  interested  in  him.  His  fall 
must  have  been  from  a  higher  social  plane  than  he  had 
suspected.  Undergraduates  whose  money  had  been 
spent  in  connection  with  horse-flesh  usually  had  more 


B  A  S  T  I A  N  179 

than  the  average  to  begin  with,  and  Magdalene  had 
been  a  super-sporting  college  in  his  day  and  Bastian's 
day. 

"  I  was  the  son  of  a  poor  parson,"  he  said.  "  I  got 
my  scholarship,  and  if  I  had  worked  I  should  probably 
have  got  my  fellowship  tco.  I  did  work  at  what  inter- 
ested me,  but  the  devil  of  it  was  that  it  didn't  interest 
the  dons.  Those  prizes  are  reserved  for  the  people  who 
have  the  sense  to  stick  at  one  thing  till  they've  got  them. 
Then  they  can  do  what  they  like.  They're  not  neces- 
sarily the  people  who  are  best  at  their  subjects.  I've 
got  a  real  love  for  the  classics,  and  I  probably  know  a 
good  deal  more  about  them  than  a  lot  of  the  people 
who  got  Firsts  when  I  only  got  a  Second.  It's  the  con- 
centration of  those  few  years  that  counts." 

Bastian  laughed  again.  "  Firsts  and  Seconds !  "  he 
said.  "  I  didn't  take  a  degree  at  all.  The  smash  had 
come  before  then,  and  I  was  tied  up  for  life." 

Wilbraham  was  rather  taken  aback.  It  looked  as  if 
confidences  were  coming,  and  he  had  the  gentleman's 
dislike  to  receiving  them  unless  they  are  given  with  full 
intention.  "  Don't  tell  me  anything  you'll  be  sorry  for 
afterwards,"  he  said,  with  another  look  at  Bastian's 
glass. 

"  Oh,  my  dear  fellow,  I'm  not  drunk,"  said  Bastian. 
"  I  drink  a  lot,  and  no  doubt  it  has  had  a  good  deal 
to  do  with  keeping  me  where  I  am ;  but  I  don't  get  drunk. 
I  don't  often  meet  anybody  like  you,  who  belongs  to  the 
world  I  used  to  inhabit.  It's  a  relief  sometimes  to  un- 
burden oneself.  Besides,  there's  Viola.  Viola  doesn't 


180  SIR    HARRY 

often  get  the  chance  of  talking  to  a  gentleman.  I  think 
you'll  open  your  eyes  when  you  see  Viola.  I  haven't 
been  able  to  raise  myself  out  of  the  muck,  but  it  hasn't 
touched  her.  She's  the  flower  that  has  grown  out 
of  it." 

Wilbraham  still  felt  some  discomfort.  If  it  were  true 
that  Bastian  never  got  drunk,  he  was  none  the  less  under 
the  influence  of  drink  now,  or  he  wouldn't  have  talked 
about  himself  with  quite  that  absence  of  control.  He 
must  have  been  referring  to  his  wife  when  he  had  said 
that  he  had  been  tied  up  for  life,  and  men  don't  talk  to 
one  another  in  that  way  about  their  wives  on  a  first 
acquaintance  when  they  are  in  full  possession  of  them- 
selves. 

"  I  shouldn't  let  anything  you  told  me  go  any 
further,"  Wilbraham  said. 

Bastian  did  not  seem  to  have  heard  this.  He  was 
looking  down  with  a  frown  of  concentrated  purpose. 
To  unburden  himself  was  evidently  imperative  on  him 
for  the  moment,  and  he  was  collecting  his  faculties  to 
that  end. 

"  I  don't  want  to  give  you  a  false  impression,"  he 
said.  "  My  wife  was  a  woman  in  a  thousand.  Never 
did  I  have  one  moment's  regret  that  I  had  married  her. 
I  think,  if  she'd  lived,  she  might  have  made  a  man  of 
me  still.  Perhaps  it  was  a  fluke — I  don't  want  to  make 
myself  out  better  than  I  was,  and  I  was  a  rotten  young 
fool  in  those  days — perhaps  it  was  a  fluke  that  she  was 
what  she  was,  because  it  was  only  her  beauty  that  I  fell 
in  love  with,  and  I  hadn't  the  sense  then  to  see  what 


B  A  S  T  I A  N  181 

there  was  behind  it.  But  what  I  do  say  is  that  my 
people  ought  to  have  seen.  I'll  never  forgive  them  for 
/  that,  and  I'll  never  let  Viola  have  anything  to  do  with 
them.  She  doesn't  even  know  their  name,  and " 

"  I  don't  quite  understand,"  said  Wilbraham,  as  he 
seemed  to  be  off  on  another  gallop.  "  Why  did  your 
people  object  to  your  marrying?  " 

"  Oh,  well  of  course  it  was  a  fool's  trick.  I  wasn't 
even  of  age,  and  she  was  a  girl  off  the  stage,  but  one 
of  the  sweetest,  kindest  girls  that  ever  stepped.  I  only 
had  her  for  a  few  years,  but  I  tell  you  I'm  in  love  with 
her  memory  still.  She's  been  dead  seventeen  years  and 
I  miss  her  as  much  as  ever.  Life's  nothing  to  me, 
though  I'm  not  old  yet;  I  buried  it  all  in  her 
grave." 

It  was  curious,  thought  Wilbraham,  that  there  should 
be  a  story  here  not  dissimilar  from  the  one  that  he  had 
lived  with  for  about  the  same  length  of  time.  But  the 
girl  whose  father  had  made  the  same  mistake  as  Harry's 
had  not  been  shielded  from  its  consequences  as  he  had. 
She  was  hardly  likely  to  have  escaped  the  contamination 
of  the  rougher,  harder  world  to  which  her  father  had 
descended.  Wilbraham  attributed  Bastian's  praise  of 
his  wife  largely  to  the  diffuse  sentiment  of  the  moment. 
He  had  not  otherwise  created  the  impression  of  a  man 
living  upon  a  life-long  regret.  His  daughter,  if  she  was 
the  close  companion  of  his  poverty  and  the  witness  of 
his  habits,  could  hardly  be  the  rare  and  delicate  flower 
that  he  painted  her,  though  she  was  probably  beautiful. 
At  any  rate  it  would  be  just  as  well  to  preserve  Harry 


182  SIRHARRY 

from  contact  with  her.  It  would  be  an  ironic  stroke  of 
fate  if  in  this  remote  corner  in  which  he  had  been 
brought  up  the  glamour  of  the  stage  should  obtrude 
itself  once  more. 

"  Is  your  daughter  on  the  stage  ?  "  he  asked  outright, 
at  this  point  in  his  reflections. 

Bastian  roused  himself,  and  seemed  to  shake  off  com- 
pletely his  mood  of  hopeless  regret.  "  God  forbid !  "  he 
said.  "  I  wouldn't  have  risked  that,  though  if  I  had  I 
believe  she'd  have  come  through  it.  You  must  see  Viola. 
I  don't  know  where  she  is  now.  She's  like  a  sweet  young 
creature  of  the  woods — roams  about  in  them  all  day. 
That'll  tell  you  what  she  is — a  London  girl,  who  can 
throw  London  off  her  altogether  when  she  gets  away 
from  it.  She's  less  bound  to  it  even  than  I  am.  Come 
up  to-morrow,  will  you?  I'll  tell  her  to  be  in  to  tea. 
She  sometimes  takes  it  out  with  her.  Can  you  come 
about  half-past  four?  " 

Wilbraham  had  been  thinking  rapidly.  If  this  girl 
was  in  the  habit  of  roaming  the  woods  all  day  she  might 
come  across  Harry,  who  was  also  in  the  habit  of  roam- 
ing the  woods.  All  the  ideas  with  which  Wilbraham  had 
lived  for  years  past  gathered  themselves  into  the  instinct 
to  watch  and  guard.  He  must  see  this  girl  of  Bastian's, 
and  he  must  be  prepared  for  what  should  come,  so  that 
he  could  deal  with  it  without  surprise  and  without  hurry. 
Fortunately,  he  had  not  announced  his  intention  of  call- 
ing upon  the  artist  that  afternoon.  He  would  say  noth- 
ing about  his  visit  at  the  Castle,  but  would  announce  one 
for  the  next  day. 


B  A  S  T  I A  N  183 

"  Yes,  I  should  like  to  come,"  he  said,  as  he  rose  from 
his  seat.  "  I  must  be  getting  back  now." 

About  a  third  of  the  whisky  remained  in  his  glass. 
He  stood  looking  at  it,  as  Bastian  expressed  his  pleasure 
in  having  seen  him,  and  then  drained  it  off  before  he  left 
the  room. 


CHAPTER    XV 

WILBKAHAM 

HARRY  and  Viola  were  in  the  log  cabin.  They  had 
varied  their  meeting-places.  Best  of  them  all  they  loved 
the  secret  pool,  but  that  was  only  for  very  hot  still 
weather.  Rain  was  falling  intermittently  this  afternoon, 
but  every  now  and  then  the  sun  shone.  The  weather 
made  little  difference  to  their  happiness,  and  the  cabin, 
Harry's  handiwork,  provided  them  with  a  shelter  when 
they  needed  it,  which  brought  them  also  a  grateful  sense 
of  seclusion  and  joint  possession.  The  Rectory  was 
empty ;  Sunday  duty  was  performed  by  a  visiting  clergy- 
man; nobody  was  in  the  least  likely  to  disturb  them 
in  their  retreat.  Viola  had  got  rid  of  her  slight  sus- 
picion of  Jane,  which  she  had  already  confessed  to 
Harry,  with  happy  laughter.  "  She  may  not  know  it," 
she  had  said,  "  but  of  course  she's  in  love  with  you,  poor 
child!  She  couldn't  help  being,  if  she  was  only  nine 
instead  of  thirteen.  I  was  a  little  jealous  of  her  being 
so  much  with  you.  But  I  love  her  for  loving  you,  and 
of  course  I'm  not  jealous  of  anybody  now." 

The  log  cabin  was  roughly  furnished.  Not  much  more 
would  have  been  required  if  it  had  really  been  the  home 
of  a  pioneer.  Harry  and  Viola  had  played  with  the  idea 

184 


WILBRAHAM  185 

of  living  together  in  such  a  cabin,  with  a  new  beautiful 
world  to  be  tamed  all  around  them,  and  this  as  the  nest 
of  their  love  and  companionship.  So  he  had  played  with 
the  children,  but  Viola's  presence  had  given  their  cabin 
a  wonderful  romantic  charm  which  it  had  never  had  and 
which  it  would  never  lose.  Her  presence  would  illumine 
every  place  in  which  she  might  rest.  Harry's  old  castle 
was  still  in  shadow  because  she  had  not  yet  visited  it. 

It  was  the  morning  of  the  day  upon  which  Wilbraham 
was  to  take  tea  with  Bastian,  and  Viola  was  to  be  there 
to  be  exhibited  to  him.  Harry  had  been  concerned  at 
hearing  that  he  had  already  been  to  the  cottage. 

"  He  has  said  nothing  about  it  at  home,"  he  said. 
"  This  morning  at  breakfast  he  did  say  that  he  had 
thought  of  going  to  see  your  father  this  afternoon,  but 
that  it  looked  like  raining  all  day.  What  does  it 
mean  ?  " 

"  Nothing  very  dreadful,"  said  Viola.  "  He  and 
father  seem  to  have  got  on  very  well  together  yesterday, 
but  perhaps  he  wasn't  quite  sure  enough  of  him  to  ask 
him  to  the  Castle.  Perhaps  he  wants  to  see  what  I'm 
like  first." 

Harry  threw  her  a  quick  loving  look.  They  were  sit- 
ting together  on  a  bench  underneath  the  eaves  of  the 
hut.  They  might  not  have  been  taken  for  lovers  by  any- 
one who  had  seen  them ;  their  caresses  were  rarer  than 
might  have  been  expected,  fathoms  deep  in  love  with  one 
another  as  they  were;  but  looks  and  smiles  flashed  be- 
tween them  like  summer  lightning,  and  scarcely  the 
lightest  word  was  spoken  without  emotion. 


186  SIR   HARRY 

"  When  he  sees  you,"  Harry  began ;  but  she  inter- 
rupted him.  "  Father  doesn't  want  to  go  if  he  does  ask 
us,"  she  said.  "  And  I  couldn't  go,  Harry  dear.  I 
love  you  so  much  that  I  couldn't  keep  it  back.  I'm 
afraid  I  shan't  be  able  to  keep  it  back  this  afternoon 
from  Mr.  Wilbraham,  if  he  says  anything  about 
you." 

"  I've  asked  myself  sometimes,"  Harry  said,  thought- 
fully, "  whether  it's  right  to  keep  it  back.  You're  so 
much  above  everybody  else  in  the  world,  Viola, 
that " 

Again  she  interrupted  him.  "  Harry  darling,"  she 
said,  "  I've  thought  about  it  too.  There  are  lots  of 
things  that  I  know  about  in  the  world  that  you  don't.  I 
only  want  to  forget  them  while  I'm  here  with  you ;  and 
I  can't  if  other  people  know  how  much  I  love  you,  and 
that  you  love  me.  They  wouldn't  let  us  forget  them." 

"  What  sort  of  things,  Viola  dear?  I'm  not  a  child, 
though  perhaps  they  have  tried  to  keep  me  one  for  too 
long,  at  home.  I'm  going  to  take  care  of  you,  for  all 
our  lives.  I  ought  to  know  as  much  as  you  do." 

"  I  hope  you  never  will,  darling,"  she  said,  a  little 
sadly.  "  I  know  that  the  things  I  have  learnt  haven't 
spoilt  me,  or  else  I  shouldn't  feel  so  happy  as  I  do  in 
your  loving  me.  But  other  people  might  not  believe 
that.  We're  very  young,  both  of  us.  We  love  as  deeply 
as  people  who  are  older  love,  and  we  know  we  shall  go  on 
loving  each  other  all  our  lives.  But  others  wouldn't 
believe  that.  They  would  try  to  part  us.  They  would 
part  us,  as  long  as  I  stayed  here;  and  there's  such  a 


WILBRAHAM  187 

little  time  left.  Oh,  let  us  be  happy  together  while  it 
lasts,  and  keep  our  lovely  secret." 

"Why  should  they  try  to  part  us,  Viola?  Who  is 
there?  My  grandmother  and  my  mother.  If  they  only 
saw  you ! " 

She  smiled  at  him.  "  It  wouldn't  be  enough^"  she  said, 
"  whatever  I  was.  And  they  wouldn't  look  at  me  with 
your  eyes.  Perhaps  nobody  else  would.  What  was  it 
made  you  love  me  so  much,  Harry?  " 

He  had  told  her  a  hundred  times,  and  now  told  her 
again ;  and  she  told  him  that  she  had  loved  him  the  very 
first  moment,  she  had  set  eyes  on  him,  riding  up  on  his 
gallant  horse  with  his  dogs  around  him.  "  You  were  like 
a  splendid  young  knight,"  she  said.  "  No  girl  could 
have  helped  loving  you.  But  I  love  you  a  thousand 
times  more  now  than  I  did  then,  and  I  suppose  I  shall  go 
on  loving  you  more  and  more  all  my  life." 

It  was  like  the  old  stories  of  his  childhood,  which  had 
to  be  told  over  and  over  again,  and  were  better  every 
time  they  were  told.  But  now  it  was  not  as  it  had  been 
then,  when  no  variation  must  be  admitted  in  the  telling. 
There  was  always  something  new — some  little  discovery 
that  deepened  the  sense  of  perfection  and  wonderment, 
some  answering  thought  that  showed  them  to  have  been 
close  to  one  another,  even  in  the  hours  in  which  they 
were  parted  and  were  pasturing  on  their  sweet  memories 
of  one  another. 

It  was  with  a  kind  of  solemnity  of  sweetness  that 
Harry  dwelt  upon  Viola's  trust  in  him  and  his  manhood. 
By  a  thousand  little  signs  it  had  been  made  plain  that 


188  SIRHARRY 

she  knew  more  of  the  world  than  he,  but  she  put  all  that 
knowledge  aside  and  looked  up  to  him  and  submitted  to 
him  as  if  infinite  wisdom  and  experience  were  his.  And 
in  truth  he  had  grown  greatly  in  mental  stature  since 
her  love  had  come  into  his  life  to  change  it  so  com- 
pletely. They  must  have  remarked  upon  it  at  home  if 
he  had  not  taken  such  advantage  of  the  freedom  that 
was  granted  him  and  been  so  little  at  home  at  this  time. 
His  mother  actually  had  told  him  that  he  was  altered, 
after  he  had  expressed  himself  with  more  than  usual  self- 
confidence  when  they  had  talked  about  the  war  over  the 
dinner-table.  She  was  always  on  the  look-out  for  signs 
of  something  that  might  take  him  from  her,  and  she 
feared  the  war  and  what  might  come  of  it  with  an 
unreasoning  fear,  considering  the  information  at  her 
command.  Harry  was  thinking  a  great  deal  about  the 
war  now,  which  does  not  mean  that  there  were  any  times 
at  which  he  was  not  thinking  about  Viola.  With  the 
coming  of  love  his  sense  of  the  deeper  values  of  life  had 
become  strengthened.  If  he  had  felt  himself  borne  along 
on  a  strong  current  that  would  carry  him  to  vhatever 
of  action  or  duty  or  mere  state  of  being  that  was  laid 
down  for  him,  then  whatever  happened  to  him  was  part 
of  the  whole,  and  nothing  in  his  life  would  be  dissociated 
from  anything  else.  It  was  this  sense  of  unity  that 
lifted  his  fresh  boy's  adoration  of  a  girl  as  young  and  as 
pure  as  himself  into  something  bigger  and  more  rooted 
than  that,  beautiful  as  it  is.  His  love  gave  the  divine 
note  of  joy  to  all  his  purpose,  sweetened  and  solemnized 
it  at  the  same  time.  It  was  not  like  a  great  happiness 


WILBRAHAM  189 

in  which  he  could  forget  himself,  and  which  he  must  also 
forget  for  a  time  if  something  more  serious  had  to  be 
faced. 

This  morning,  for  the  first  time,  influenced  perhaps  by 
the  breath  from  outside  which  had  come  through  Wil- 
braham's  advent  upon  the  scene,  which,  however,  they 
put  aside  from  them,  they  talked  about  the  time  when 
Viola  should  have  gone  away. 

Their  extreme  youth  moved  them  to  sadness,  which 
was  not  wholly  painful  because  the  time  was  not  near 
yet,  and  present  bliss  was  only  heightened  by  the 
thought  of  parting.  They  were  so  far  unlike  most 
young  lovers  that  no  mention  was  made  of  writing,  or 
even  of  meeting  again.  It  was  as  if  the  contact  be- 
tween them  was  so  close  and  so  sure  that  however  far 
apart  they  might  be  in  space,  and  for  whatever  time, 
they  would  still  be  together. 

Harry  was  serious  about  the  future.  "  I  don't  know 
exactly  what  is  going  to  happen,"  he  said.  "  I'm  sup- 
posed to  be  going  to  Sandhurst  in  January,  but  that's  a 
long  time  ahead.  I  seem  to  see  the  war  swallowing  up 
everything.  There's  something  to  be  done  here  about  it, 
and  perhaps  it  will  be  for  me  to  do  it.  But  there's 
nothing  to  show  yet.  I  think  there  won't  be  till  you  go 
away,  my  darling.  I  think  there's  nothing  that  will  come 
in  the  way  of  my  being  with  you,  and  thinking  about 
nothing  but  you." 

"  Do  you  think  you  will  have  to  go  and  fight,  Harry? 
Oh,  surely  you're  too  young  for  that,  darling!  " 

"  I'm  not  too  young  to  love  you." 


190  SIR   HARRY 

She  thought  over  this.  It  was  one  of  the  things  he 
sometimes  said  that  meant  more  than  it  seemed  to.  She 
loved  those  speeches  of  his,  springing  from  something 
in  him  to  which  she  could  give  all  her  faith  and  all  her 
devotion.  They  helped  her  to  plumb  the  depths  in  him, 
and  she  had  never  found  anything  there  that  did  not 
make  her  glad  and  proud  of  loving  him. 

This  time  her  pride  brought  the  tears  close  to  her 
eyes.  There  was  more  than  the  sweetness  of  young  love 
in  this — to  be  loved  as  something  in  full  alliance  with 
all  the  biggest  things  that  a  man  might  be  called  upon  to 
do  in  the  world,  and  to  which  he  must  bring  all  that  he 
was  and  all  that  he  had,  even  his  life  itself  if  it  should 
be  required  of  him. 

"  I  shouldn't  want  you  not  to,  Harry,"  she  said. 

He  did  not  tell  her  of  his  conviction  that  the  war 
would  claim  him.  She  was  his  to  be  protected,  and  some 
things  she  must  be  spared.  When  the  time  came,  she 
would  somehow  be  concerned  in  it,  because  she  would  be 
concerned  in  everything  that  he  did,  and  whatever  he 
should  want  of  her  then  she  would  give  him.  He  had  as 
much  confidence  in  her  as  she  in  him. 

"  The  war  is  like  a  great  shadow  over  everything,"  he 
said.  "  We're  in  the  sunshine  just  now,  you  and  I — the 
most  glorious  sunshine.  I  don't  think  that  we  need  fear 
the  shadow  for  ourselves.  But  for  others — for  some  it's 
very  deep." 

The  shadow  seemed  to  creep  closer  and  touch  her 
heart  as  he  spoke.  They  were  silent  for  a  time,  her  hand 
resting  in  his.  The  contact  strengthened  them  both, 


WILBRAHAM  191 

and  the  shadow  passed  away  from  her.  For  the  rest  of 
their  time  together  that  morning  they  made  love  and 
built  their  airy  rainbow  castles,  almost  as  unsubstantial 
as  those  of  children.  In  fact  they  played  with  the  idea 
of  having  Jane  and  Pobbles  to  live  with  them.  It  hardly 
seemed  fair  to  be  using  the  cabin  in  which  they  had  a 
proprietary  share  and  leave  them  out  of  it.  They  would 
pass  suddenly  from  grave  to  gay  in  this  way,  and  there 
were  many  times  when  the  children  could  have  taken  a 
full  part  in  their  conversation  without  being  at  all  in 
the  way. 

At  about  six  o'clock  that  evening  Wilbraham  was 
walking  along  the  woodland  path  that  led  from  the  cot- 
tage to  the  Castle.  He  walked  slowly  with  his  eyes  on 
the  ground  all  the  time,  and  his  face  was  very  thought- 
ful. He  started  violently  as  he  looked  up  to  see  Harry 
standing  in  the  path  in  front  of  him. 

For  a  moment  they  stood  there  looking  at  one 
another. 

"Well?"  said  Harry. 

Wilbraham's  eyes  dropped,  and  he  walked  on,  Harry 
with  him.  "  You've  been  meeting  here,"  he  said. 

"  Yes." 

Another  pause.  Then  from  Wilbraham :  "  You've 
been  making  love." 

"  Making  love?  I  don't  like  the  expression.  We  love 
each  other — yes." 

Wilbraham  said  nothing,  and  they  walked  on  to- 
gether. Presently  they  came  to  a  fallen  tree  by  the  side 


192  SIR   HARRY 

of  the  path.  "  Let's  sit  down  here  and  have  it  out,"  said 
Wilbraham. 

Harry  spoke  first.  "  I'm  glad  you  know,"  he  said. 
"  I'd  like  all  the  world  to  know ;  you  can  tell  why,  now 
you've  seen  her.  But  I  suppose  it  wouldn't  do  for 
mother  and  Granny  to  know — not  just  yet." 

Wilbraham  seemed  to  pull  his  determination  together. 
"  My  dear  boy,"  he  said,  "  you  mustn't  take  it  for 
granted  that  they're  not  to  know.  It  has  come  as  a 
complete  surprise  to  me ;  I  don't  know  what  to  do  about 
it  yet." 

Harry  laughed.  The  situation  seemed  to  contain  no 
awkwardness  for  him,  whatever  doubts  it  might  have 
brought  to  Wilbraham.  "  Before  you  settle  that,"  he 
said,  "  tell  me  what  you  think  of  her." 

"  She's  a  very  beautiful  child,"  said  Wilbraham, 
thoughtfully.  He  laid  no  stress  on  the  word  "  child," 
to  belittle  Harry's  confession  of  love.  It  was  as  she 
had  struck  him. 

He  had  gone  into  the  little  parlour  to  find  Bastian 
there,  dressed  more  in  accordance  with  what  he  had 
seemed  to  be  than  on  the  day  before.  A  faint  smell  of 
his  strong  tobacco  hung  about  the  room,  but  it  had  been 
tidied,  and  freshened  up  with  flowers,  and  tea  was  laid 
on  the  table,  with  signs  of  ceremony  and  care.  Then 
Viola  came  in,  and  he  had  the  impression  of  Bastian 
triumphantly  watching  him  as  he  introduced  her. 

He  did  indeed  open  his  eyes  at  first  sight  of  her,  as 
her  father  had  foretold.  He  would  not  have  been  so 
surprised  at  the  vision  of  her,  fresh  and  delicate,  very 


WILBRAHAM  193 

simply  dressed  in  her  white  frock,  with  all  the  air  about 
her  of  breeding  and  refinement,  if  it  had  not  been  for 
the  memory  of  Bastian  the  day  before,  with  his  deterio- 
rated tastes,  and  his  talk  of  downfall.  A  flower,  he  had 
said  of  her,  growing  out  of  the  mire ;  but  who  had  tended 
her  growing? 

Mrs.  Ivimey  came  in  with  the  tea,  and  was  voluble 
with  Wilbraham  about  her  ladyship  and  Sir  Harry. 
Wilbraham's  eyes  were  on  Viola  the  whole  time,  and  he 
saw  the  colour  rise  on  her  soft  cheeks  as  Harry's 
name  was  mentioned,  but  made  nothing  of  it  at  the 
time. 

Nothing  more  was  said  about  the  Castle  when  Mrs. 
Ivimey  had  left  the  room.  Wilbraham  had  not  given  the 
invitation  that  might  have  been  expected  of  him.  He 
recognized  with  a  sense  of  gratitude  that  no  hints 
towards  it  need  be  feared.  Bastian  showed  up  much 
more  as  a  gentleman  than  on  the  afternoon  before;  his 
clothes  were  old  enough  but  no  longer  disreputable,  and 
he  was  obviously  entirely  free  from  the  influence  of 
drink.  The  difference  in  his  speech  and  bearing  seemed 
to  exaggerate  his  state  of  the  afternoon  before  into  one 
of  actual  drunkenness. 

They  talked  chiefly  about  books,  and  more  particu- 
larly about  poetry.  Viola  talked  very  little,  but  her 
father  sometimes  referred  to  her,  as  if  to  show  with  pride 
what  she  was.  Her  enthusiasms  showed  here  and  there. 
Wilbraham's  wonder  grew  at  her. 

Harry  came  to  his  mind  again.  He  brought  his  name 
in  deliberately.  "  Harry,  my  pupil,  used  to  shout  that 


194  SIRHARRY 

out  when  he  first  read  it.  He  loves  poetry,  and  it  takes 
him  like  that." 

Viola  made  no  reply,  but  the  flush  dyed  the  rose-petal 
of  her  cheeks  again.  "  It's  the  youth  in  him,"  her  father 
said.  "  Poetry  brings  you  real  joy  when  you're  young, 
doesn't  it,  Viola?" 

She  had  to  look  up  at  last,  and  Wilbraham  saw  her 
eyes.  She  made  a  brave  effort  to  speak  evenly,  but  her 
voice  trembled  a  little  as  she  said,  "  Yes,  all  the  beautiful 
things  in  the  world  make  you  glad." 

Then  Wilbraham  knew,  and  a  wave  of  sympathy  and 
tenderness  flowed  over  him,  but  was  brought  up  short 
against  the  wall  that  all  the  aims  of  the  past  years  had 
built  up  around  Harry,  and  dashed  back  on  him  to  over- 
whelm him.  He  emerged  gasping,  but  with  the  instinct 
strong  in  him  to  keep  his  knowledge  from  being  seen.  In 
the  rest  of  the  time  he  stayed  at  the  cottage  nothing  was 
said  to  cause  Viola  to  betray  herself  further,  but  he  was 
observing  her  all  the  time,  and  his  bewilderment  grew. 

She  seemed  to  have  divined  that  the  danger  was  over, 
and  came  out  of  her  shell  and  smiled  and  prattled 
delightfully.  Her  happiness  was  too  strong  in  her  to  be 
kept  under,  and  she  would  not  have  been  human,  or 
feminine,  if  she  had  not  wished  to  make  a  pleasant  im- 
pression upon  Wilbraham,  who  was  so  near  to  Harry. 
It  was  the  impression  of  delicious  sparkling  youth  that 
came  to  him  most  strongly.  It  was  as  if  the  confession 
was  drawn  out  of  him  reluctantly  when  in  his  answer  to 
Harry's  question  he  said  slowly :  "  She's  a  very  beautiful 
child." 


WILBRAHAM  195 

"  Why  didn't  you  teach  me  what  a  beautiful  thing 
love  is  ?  "  asked  Harry.  "  We've  read  a  lot  about  it 
together,  but  I  never  had  an  idea  of  it  until  now.  I 
don't  think  anybody  in  the  world  has  ever  been  so  happy 
as  I  am." 

Wilbraham  was  torn  in  two  again.  His  appreciations 
were  not  all  bookish,  and  he  loved  Harry.  He  saw  that 
in  a  nature  such  as  his  love  would  come  as  a  very  beau- 
tiful thing,  and  his  searching  observation  of  Viola  had 
revealed  nothing  in  her  that  could  make  it  less  so.  And 
yet—! 

"  How  long  have  you  known  her?  "  he  asked. 

"  What  does  it  matter?  "  said  Harry.  "  I've  known 
her  all  my  life.  If  I  look  back  to  any  time  in  it,  she  was 
there,  though  I'd  never  seen  her.  We've  been  meeting 
every  day,  if  that's  what  you  mean." 

It  was  what  Wilbraham  had  meant,  and  he  felt  dis- 
comfort at  having  asked  the  question.  It  was  the  dis- 
comfort that  must  come  from  probing  into  this  situa- 
tion, with  the  fear  before  him  of  saying  something  that 
would  smirch  the  bright  purity  of  Harry's  mind.  Any- 
thing that  brought  his  actions  to  the  test  must  do  that, 
if  he  came  to  understand  what  tests  were  applicable  to 
his  meetings  with  Viola. 

"  Why  didn't  you  tell  us  ?  "  seemed  to  be  the  safest 
thing  to  say,  and  he  said  it  with  a  half  hope  that  the 
answer  would  give  him  some  handle,  though  without 
mental  acknowledgment  of  the  hope. 

"  Well,  I  felt  somehow  that  you'd  try  to  stop  me," 
said  the  boy.  "  At  least  mother  and  Granny  would.  I 


196  SIR   HARRY 

did  nearly  tell  mother,  the  first  time  I'd  seen  Viola,  but 
something  warned  me  not  to.  I've  been  glad  since  that 
I  didn't.  It  has  just  been  she  and  I — Viola  and  I. 
Oh,  how  I  love  her !  I'm  glad  you've  seen  her.  But  you 
must  keep  it  to  yourself.  We  haven't  much  longer  to- 
gether. I  can't  have  our  time  spoilt." 

He  spoke  almost  with  authority.  With  every  moment 
Wilbraham  felt  some  new  little  emotion  of  change  and 
development  too  quick  for  him  to  master.  Harry  had 
been  the  most  docile  of  pupils.  Never  once  since  his 
first  dealings  with  him  as  a  young  child  had  he  had  to 
exercise  authority  against  desires  or  inclinations  of  his. 
True,  he  had  held  the  reins  lightly,  and  never  given  him 
a  rebuke  or  a  direction  that  had  mood  instead  of  reason 
behind  it;  but  it  had  sometimes  crossed  his  mind  that 
the  boy  was  too  docile,  and  that  his  sense  of  responsi- 
bility and  self-mastery  might  be  sapped  if  he  was 
brought  up  to  give  unquestioning  obedience  to  the  direc- 
tions of  his  elders.  He  had  mentioned  this  fear  to  Lady 
Brent,  and  her  answer  to  it  had  been  of  the  kind  that 
he  had  received  once  or  twice  before  in  his  consultations 
with  her,  from  which  his  confidence  in  her  ultimate 
wisdom  had  been  so  firmly  fixed.  The  same  doubt,  it 
seemed,  had  crossed  her  own  mind.  It  was  to  be  met 
by  allowing  Harry  the  fullest  possible  trust  and  freedom. 
If  at  any  time  he  overstepped  the  freedom  it  was  not 
to  be  treated  as  a  fault.  He  was  to  be  told  why  it  was 
not  advisable  for  him  to  do  this  or  that,  and  the  decision 
left  to  him.  Once  or  twice  this  had  happened,  and  once 
he  had  stuck  out  for  his  own  will.  It  was  when  his  noc- 


WILBRAHAM  197 

turnal  rambles  had  been  discovered  by  chance,  shortly 
after  that  night  upon  which  Grant  had  seen  him  out  in 
the  park.  Lady  Brent,  with  calm  and  admirable  self- 
restraint,  had  said :  "  Very  well,  Harry.  After  all,  I 
don't  know  that  there's  any  harm  in  it.  If  I  had  known 
of  it  a  year  ago  I  might  have  stopped  it ;  but  now  you're 
old  enough  to  do  as  you  like  in  that  sort  of  way." 

No  one  observing  the  boy,  Wilbraham  had  thought, 
could  say  that  he  was  molly-coddled  into  submission. 
Few  boys  of  his  age  had  such  freedom  granted  to  them, 
or  carried  a  more  gallant  air  before  the  world ;  and  the 
Grants,  of  whom  he  had  taken  counsel,  as  representing 
the  views  of  the  world  more  closely  than  he  in  his  retire- 
ment could  do,  had  supported  him. 

And  yet,  there  had  been  the  feeling  that  Harry  was 
extraordinarily  easy  to  manage — too  amiably  submis- 
sive, almost,  to  the  guidance  of  his  elders,  and  Wil- 
braham himself  particularly. 

But  now — !  Wilbraham  mentally  shook  himself. 
Was  he  receiving  instructions  from  Harry — and  almost 
inclined  to  accept  them  submissively?  " 

The  little  spurt  to  his  pride  took  him  a  trifle  farther 
than  he  had  wished  to  go.  "  I  don't  think  it's  a  matter 
for  me  to  decide  on,  apart  from  your  grandmother,"  he 
said. 

Harry  turned  a  surprised  face  on  him.  "  No,  it's  for 
me  to  decide  on,"  he  said.  "  By  and  by  I  shall  tell 
Granny — of  course.  But  I  don't  in  the  least  know  when 
it  will  be.  There's  nothing  to  show  yet." 

The  phrase  struck  Wilbraham   oddly.      Harry  had 


198  SIR   HARRY 

used  it  once  or  twice  to  him  before.  "  One  has  to  decide 
upon  things  with  one's  brain,"  he  said,  "  and  out  of 
one's  experience — important  things  that  may  affect 
one's  life.  They  can't  be  left  to  impulse." 

"  The  two  go  together,  I  suppose,"  said  Harry, 
almost  with  indifference. 

It  was  one  of  those  little  speeches  upon  which  Viola 
would  hang  as  containing  the  quintessence  of  wisdom. 
She  might  not  have  understood  this  speech,  but  Wil- 
braham  did,  and  it  affected  him  profoundly.  Here 
was  that  rarest  of  characters — one  who  had  never  played 
with  his  impulses,  to  give  them  scope  beyond  the  guid- 
ance of  his  reason.  He  could  trust  his  impulses  because 
their  springs  were  controlled. 

"  Shall  we  go  on?  "  said  Harry,  rising. 

Wilbraham  rose  too,  slowly,  after  a  pause  of  reflec- 
tion, and  they  walked  on.  Viola's  name  was  not 
mentioned  again  between  them. 


CHAPTER    XVI 

DILEMMA 

WILBRAHAM  walked  up  and  down  in  a  retired  part  of 
the  garden  where  no  one  was  likely  to  disturb  him. 
Sometimes,  because  he  had  walked  rather  farther  that 
afternoon  already  than  was  his  custom,  he  sat  down  on 
a  garden  seat  at  the  end  of  the  alley  where  he  was.  But 
only  his  body  was  at  rest ;  his  mind  was  eagerly  search- 
ing for  the  right  course.  If  only  it  were  as  straight  and 
as  easy  to  tread  as  this  soft  turfed  walk  between  the 
uncompromising  green  walls,  with  the  evening  sun  flood- 
ing the  narrow  space  and  warming  even  the  sombre  tones 
of  the  yew  to  some  leniency ! 

He  did  not  know  where  Harry  was.  He  had  left  him 
when  they  had  reached  the  house.  For  all  he  could  tell, 
he  might  have  gone  straight  back  to  Viola;  there  was 
an  hour  yet  before  dinner.  But  he  would  hardly  have 
come  right  back  to  the  Castle  with  him,  to  talk  chiefly 
about  the  war,  if  he  had  meant  to  do  that,  and  he  had 
let  drop  something  which  showed  that  he  had  no  inten- 
tion of  staying  out  during  the  dinner  hour.  Perhaps 
he  would  go  to  her  afterwards,  as  he  must  have  done  on 
occasions  before.  It  did  not  much  matter.  He  had 
claimed  the  right  to  go  to  her  when  he  pleased,  and 
Wilbraham  had  not  controverted  it.  His  authority 

199 


200  SIR   HARRY 

seemed  to  have  come  to  a  very  sudden  end,  he  thought 
with  a  wry  smile. 

There  remained  Lady  Brent's  authority.  Should  he 
invoke  it?  That  was  what  he  had  to  decide  for  himself 
before  he  left  this  garden  alley,  the  retired  scene  of  his 
cogitations. 

Harry  had  extracted  no  promise  from  him.  That 
pleased  him,  as  it  had  pleased  Grant  when  he  had  acted 
in  the  same  way  over  his  secret  midnight  roaming.  They 
had  been  justified  in  their  treatment  of  him  to  that 
extent.  He  would  be  ashamed  of  nothing  that  he  had 
done,  not  even  to  the  extent  of  asking  that  it  should  be 
kept  secret  where  he  had  shown  that  secrecy  was  what 
he  wanted — and  expected. 

That  made  it  all  the  more  difficult  for  Wilbraham. 
He  would  seem  to  be  breaking  a  promise  if  he  told  Lady 
Brent,  though  he  had  given  no  promise.  He  would  at 
least  be  setting  himself  against  Harry  in  a  matter  which 
Harry  had  claimed  the  right  to  decide  for  himself.  He 
wanted  to  be  very  sure  that  the  boy  was  wrong  in  his 
decision  before  he  did  that. 

He  loved  and  admired  Harry  at  that  moment  more 
than  he  had  ever  done.  He  had  a  clearer  vision  than 
ever  before  of  the  boy's  clean  finely-tempered  nature. 
He  felt  himself  rebuked  by  it,  and  what  thoughts  he 
spared  for  himself,  as  apart  from  his  duty  towards 
Harry  and  towards  Lady  Brent,  worked  rather  sadly 
upon  the  conviction  of  his  own  weakness. 

He  had  kept  silent  about  his  previous  visit  to  Bastian 
only  partly  because  of  his  wish  to  judge  further  for  him- 


DILEMMA  201 

self  before  he  gave  or  withheld  the  suggested  invitation 
to  the  Castle.  He  remembered  now  the  pleasure  with 
which  he  had  set  out  that  afternoon  to  go  to  the  cottage, 
and  knew  that  its  chief  source  was  the  anticipation  of 
drinking  with  Bastian — drinking  just  the  amount  and 
no  more  to  give  him  the  slight  exhilaration  that  he  had 
gained  the  day  before.  Bastian  had  offered  him  nothing 
to  drink  except  tea.  Viola's  presence  in  the  little 
parlour  had  made  the  scene  of  the  previous  afternoon 
look  ugly  in  the  memory  of  it.  He  was  very  glad  now 
that  it  had  been  so.  It  would  have  been  too  painful  to 
have  the  burden  of  that  secret  upon  him  while  deciding 
what  he  should  do  with  Harry's  secret.  Lady  Brent 
would  certainly  have  looked  upon  it  as  a  fall,  whatever 
view  he  might  encourage  himself  to  take  of  it. 

But  surely,  weak  as  he  was,  he  had  had  something  to 
do  with  making  Harry,  who  was  of  so  much  finer  clay, 
what  he  had  grown  into.  He  had  pointed  him  to  noble 
things,  fed  his  mind  upon  fine  utterance  of  fine  thoughts, 
opened  the  door  for  him  to  all  the  rich  stores  of  wisdom 
laid  up  from  the  past.  Yes,  he  had  done  that,  though 
he  had  had  small  profit  of  it  for  himself.  He  was  con- 
soled by  the  thought  that  Harry  could  not  be  what 
he  was  if  any  breath  of  his  own  unworthiness  had 
touched  him. 

He  threw  off  the  discomfort.  He  would  act  now  for 
Harry's  good,  as  he  had  always  acted.  There  had  been 
nothing  wrong  in  him  there. 

He  threw  off,  also,  not  without  some  impatience,  the 
influence  of  Harry's  assuredness.  If  it  was  to  be  ac- 


202  SIRHARRY 

cepted  that  the  boy  could  do  no  wrong  according  to  his 
lights — which  really  seemed  to  be  what  it  was  coming 
to — it  was  not  the  less  necessary  to  judge  the  situation 
by  lights  which  did  not  shine  upon  him,  the  glimmer  of 
which,  indeed,  had  been  deliberately  curtained  from 
him. 

The  love  of  a  boy  and  a  girl !  Oh,  it  was  a  touching 
thing,  when  they  were  a  boy  and  a  girl  like  Harry  and 
Viola.  Wilbraham  rejected  then  and  there  any  sugges- 
tion that  might  have  come  from  his  dinted  experience 
that  Viola  was  not  Harry's  mate  in  innocence  and 
purity.  He  had  seen  her  for  himself.  All  that  he  knew 
of  her  father,  all  that  he  did  not  know  of  her  origin  and 
upbringing,  could  go  by  the  board.  His  heart  spoke 
for  her,  his  sentiment  went  out  to  her.  He  was  a  poor, 
weak,  self-indulgent  creature,  he  told  himself,  but  he 
did  recognize  goodness  and  purity  when  he  saw  it.  Be- 
sides, what  else  could  have  attracted  Harry?  He  was 
doubly  armed  there. 

But  Lady  Brent  wouldn't  see  it  like  that.  The  out- 
side resemblances  between  what  had  happened  to  Har- 
ry's father  and  what  was  now  happening  to  Harry 
would  be  too  strong  for  her.  She  would  think  that  all 
fcr  which  she  had  worked  and  sacrificed  herself  through 
long  years  would  be  destroyed  if  Harry  was  caught  in 
the  snares  of  love  at  this  early  age.  She  would  put  her 
spoke  in.  She  would  use  all  the  wisdom  of  which  she 
was  capable — and  she  had  shown  great  wisdom  in  the 
past — in  putting  a  stop  to  it ;  but  at  least  she  would  try 
to  put  a  stop  to  it. 


DILEMMA  203 

And  then  what  would  happen?  Wilbraham  saw  a 
sharp  contest  between  her  and  Harry,  and,  with  the 
deeper  vision  that  had  come  to  him  of  the  boy's  charac- 
ter, he  felt  it  to  be  extremely  doubtful  whether  Lady 
Brent  would  win.  There  would  be  a  state  of  open  con- 
flict, and  Harry  would  be  more  firmly  fixed  in  his 
courses  than  before. 

Boy  and  girl  attachments — they  faded  out.  It  was 
absurd  to  suppose  that  at  seventeen  Harry  could  have 
any  idea  of  marriage,  however  much  he  and  Viola  might 
have  played  with  the  overwhelming  bliss  of  some  day 
being  always  together.  He  was  not  as  his  father  had 
been;  he  would  marry,  when  the  time  came  for  him  to 
do  so,  with  a  full  sense  of  his  responsibility.  And  Viola 
was  not  like  Harry's  mother.  No,  the  danger  of  a  hasty 
secret  marriage  could  be  ruled  out;  it  was  an  affront 
to  both  of  them  to  think  of  it. 

Harry  would  go  his  way,  and  Viola  would  go  hers. 
Their  ways  lay  naturally  very  far  apart.  They  might 
write  to  each  other  for  a  time,  and  they  might  see  one 
another  occasionally ;  but  what  would  it  matter?  At  the 
end  of  four  years,  when  Harry  would  be  twenty-one,  it 
was  most  probable  that  this  almost  childish  love  passage 
would  be  forgotten,  or  exist  only  as  a  fragrant  memory. 

Wilbraham  divined  in  himself  at  this  point  a  faint 
regret  at  the  thought  of  this  beautiful  boy  and  girl 
ceasing  to  love  one  another.  Viola  had  made  a  deep 
impression  upon  him. 

At  any  rate,  there  was  no  harm  in  it.  Probably  there 
was  even  good  in  it.  Harry  would  soon  be  leaving  home, 


204  SIRHARRY 

to  plunge  straight  into  a  world  for  which  Wilbraham 
had  sometimes  thought  that  his  training  had  been  a  dan- 
gerous preparation.  With  this  innocent  early  love  of 
his  to  accompany  him,  he  would  be  armed  against  many 
of  the  temptations  to  which  sheltered  youth  does  suc- 
cumb when  the  shelter  has  at  last  been  withdrawn. 

Wilbraham  felt  a  sense  of  relief  at  having  come  to 
these  conclusions.  He  was  sure  they  were  right.  Harry 
had  conquered.  He  should  be  left  free  to  sun  himself 
in  the  glamour  of  his  boy's  courtship.  How  pretty  it 
was  to  think  of  them  billing  and  cooing  like  two  young 
turtle-doves  in  their  leafy  fastnesses !  Wilbraham's  let- 
tered thoughts  flew  to  Theocritus,  and  he  murmured  soft 
Greek  words  to  himself,  but  decided  that  there  would  be 
a  delicacy  about  the  wooing  of  these  children  that  could 
not  be  matched  in  Sicilian  idylls.  He  rose  from  his  seat 
and  made  his  way  towards  the  house.  He  had  decided. 
He  would  leave  them  alone. 

But  as  he  dressed  for  dinner  in  a  leisurely  way,  lin- 
gering often  at  his  window  to  enjoy  the  scents  and 
sounds  of  the  garden  dusk,  the  thought  of  Lady  Brent 
once  more  occurred  to  him  and  his  face  grew  thoughtful 
again. 

Hadn't  he  rather  left  her  out  of  account?  If  the 
decision  had  been  so  easy  to  come  to,  and  seemed  so 
right  now  it  was  made,  wouldn't  she  be  quite  as  capable 
of  making  it  as  he  had  been? 

Well,  perhaps !  And  whether  she  arrived  at  the  same 
conclusion  or  not,  one  thing  was  quite  certain — that  she 
would  be  vastly  annoyed  with  Wilbraham  if  she  knew 


DILEMMA  205 

that  he  had  taken  it  upon  himself  to  decide  without  con- 
sultation with  her. 

But  his  doubts  were  soon  dissipated.  He  had  decided 
for  Harry,  and  was  with  him  now.  It  might  be  rather 
painful  at  some  future  time  to  face  her  offended  sur- 
prise, but,  after  all,  he  was  a  man  and  she  was  a  woman. 
And  Harry  had  proved  himself  a  man  already.  They 
would  only  be  in  the  same  boat.  Wilbraham  smiled  to 
himself,  put  on  his  coat  and  went  down  to  dinner. 

He  had  had  some  idea  of  giving  Harry  a  word  to  indi- 
cate that  his  secret  was  safe,  but  there  was  no  oppor- 
tunity before  they  went  in  to  dinner,  and  afterwards  he 
was  glad  that  he  had  not  done  so.  For  Harry  did  not 
even  give  him  a  look  of  inquiry.  He  chatted  and  laughed 
and  seemed  to  be  in  a  mood  of  quite  unburdened  high 
spirits.  So  had  Viola  been,  but  Viola  had  not  known 
that  Wilbraham  had  discovered  their  secret,  and  Harry 
did.  Wilbraham  was  pleased  to  think  that  Harry's 
evident  absence  of  anxiety  was  the  result  of  his  trust  in 
him.  He  had  surprised  his  secret  and  he  would  respect 
it.  What  could  he  do  otherwise?  Wilbraham  was  con- 
firmed in  his  decision  to  leave  Lady  Brent  out  of  knowl- 
edge of  it,  but  could  not  forbear  an  exercise  of  imagina- 
tion as  he  glanced  at  her  and  wondered  what  she  would 
do  if  the  truth  were  suddenly  blurted  out  to  her. 

A  remarkable  woman,  certainly !  She  provided  an- 
other little  surprise  that  evening  when  for  the  first  time 
she  seemed  to  contemplate  the  continuance  of  the  war  for 
such  a  time  as  would  involve  Harry  in  it.  It  might  be 
that  it  would  take  a  year  or  even  more  to  bring  it  to  a 


206  SIRHARRY 

conclusion.  Lord  Kitchener  was  said  to  have  prophesied 
three  years,  which  was  impossible  to  believe;  but  the 
South  African  War  had  lasted  for  two,  when  everybody 
thought  it  would  be  over  in  a  few  weeks.  It  might  be 
that  officers  would  be  wanted  more  quickly  than  they 
could  be  turned  out  in  normal  times,  and  that  Harry's 
Sandhurst  training  would  be  speeded  up.  They  must 
bear  that  in  mind. 

The  prospect  did  not  seem  to  cause  her  any  dismay, 
or  if  it  did  she  concealed  it.  But  poor  Mrs.  Brent  raised 
a  wail  of  protest.  Surely  they  couldn't  take  boys  of 
eighteen,  as  Harry  would  only  be  in  a  year's  time.  It 
would  be  wicked — unheard  of. 

"  Not  unheard  of,"  said  Lady  Brent.  "  And  not 
wicked  either.  For  our  own  sakes  we  should  wish  Harry 
kept  out  of  it ;  but  if  he  were  of  an  age  when  others  went 
we  should  wish  him  to  go.  However,  let  us  hope  that 
there  will  be  no  necessity." 

"  I  don't  think  I  hope  that,"  said  Harry.  "  I  don't 
want  the  war  to  last,  because  I  think  war  is  a  horrible 
thing.  All  the  same,  I  wish  I  were  fighting  in  this 
one." 

Wilbraham  controverted  the  opinion  that  war  was  a 
horrible  thing.  Nations  were  apt  to  get  lazy  and  selfish 
over  long  periods  of  peace,  and  wanted  rousing  out  of 
themselves,  just  as  sluggish  human  bodies  did.  War  was 
a  tonic  and  a  cleanser. 

"  Perhaps  it  is,  for  those  who  can  fight,  with  a  great 
idea  behind  them,"  said  Harry.  "  For  all  the  rest  I 
think  it's  beastly.  At  any  rate,  an  Englishman  could 


DILEMMA  207 

fight  in  this  war  and  know  he  was  doing  the  right  thing. 
I  wish  I  were  a  year  older  now." 

Mrs.  Brent  breathed  a  deep  sigh  and  looked  at  him 
hungrily.  It  was  of  no  use  her  saying  anything.  If 
Harry's  fighting  or  not  fighting  should  come  to  be  de- 
cided on,  she  would  have  no  voice  in  the  decision.  She 
looked  anxiously  at  Lady  Brent,  who  only  said:  "  For- 
tunately, the  matter  isn't  in  our  hands." 

"  People  of  my  age  are  enlisting,"  said  Harry, 
shortly. 

Lady  Brent  took  this  up  at  once.  Perhaps  she  had 
already  thought  of  it.  "  It  is  a  fine  thing  for  a  young 
man  to  do,"  she  said.  "  But  for  those  who  have  shown 
their  willingness  to  fight  through  generations  there  is  an 
even  higher  duty,  which  is  to  lead.  And  you  cannot 
lead  without  the  proper  training." 

Harry  did  not  reply,  and  the  subject  was  dropped. 
But  to  Wilbraham,  with  his  senses  more  acute  from  what 
he  had  learned  of  him,  came  a  glimpse  into  still  other 
chambers  of  his  mind.  His  silence  was  not  that  of  one 
who  had  received  an  answer  which  settled  a  doubtful 
point.  In  this,  as  in  other  matters,  he  would  take  his 
own  way,  but  the  way  was  not  yet  clear  to  him,  and  he 
would  not  talk  about  it  beforehand. 

It  had  come  of  late  to  be  Harry's  habit  to  stay  with 
Wilbraham  after  the  women  had  left  the  table,  while  he 
drank  his  coffee  and  smoked  a  cigarette.  He  had  done 
it  at  first  on  occasions,  but  now  seldom  went  away  with 
his  mother  and  grandmother.  It  was  a  habit  that 
marked  his  growing  manhood,  but  he  could  still  have  left 


208  SIR   HARRY 

him  without  remark  if  he  had  wished  to  do  so.  If  he 
should  leave  him  to-night,  Wilbraham  thought  it  would 
be  a  sign  that  he  did  not  wish  to  talk  to  him  again  on 
the  subject  of  which  both  their  minds  were  full. 

But  he  came  back  again  after  opening  the  door  for 
his  mother  and  grandmother. 

How  young  and  fair  and  slender  he  was,  thought  Wil- 
braham, and  he  moved  lightly  across  the  great  hall  and 
took  his  seat,  as  of  right,  in  his  chair  of  dignity.  Noth- 
ing but  a  beautiful  boy,  after  all,  too  young  as  yet  by 
years  to  take  upon  himself  any  large  responsibilities, 
and  yet  the  much  older  man  waited  instinctively  on  him 
for  an  indication  of  the  new  relationship  that  was  to 
exist  between  them. 

The  servants  came  in  with  the  coffee,  and  until  they 
had  left  the  room  again  nothing  was  said.  Harry  looked 
thoughtful,  and  graver  than  usual. 

When  they  were  once  more  alone  he  said :  "  I  want 
you  to  do  something  for  me,  and  I  don't  want  Granny 
to  know — nor,  of  course,  mother.  It's  for  you  to  say 
whether  you'll  do  it  or  not,  but  I  want  you  to  promise 
in  any  case  not  to  let  them  know  that  I've  asked  you." 

Wilbraham  was  slightly  huffed.  "  I  don't  know  why 
you  should  want  to  extract  a  promise  of  secrecy  before- 
hand," he  said.  "  You  didn't  this  evening,  but  I've 
thought  it  over  and  decided  to  keep  to  myself  what  I 
found  out." 

Harry  looked  puzzled  for  a  moment,  and  then  smiled. 
"  I  hoped  you  would,"  he  said,  "  for  now  I  shall  be  able 
to  talk  to  you  about  her." 


DILEMMA  209 

"Thanks,"  said  Wilbraham,  drily.  "  I'm  glad  I'm 
going  to  get  some  reward." 

Harry  laughed.  "  A  young  man  in  love  is  supposed, 
to  be  rather  a  bore,  isn't  he?"  he  said.  "I  seem  to 
remember  having  read  so,  but  people  in  love  haven't  in- 
terested me  much  so  far.  Well,  but  of  course  that  was 
for  you  to  decide — whether  you'd  keep  it  to  yourself  or 
not.  You  might  not  have  thought  it  right  to  do  so;  I 
couldn't  tell.  But  this  is  something  quite  different — not 
about  Viola,  you  know.  I  want  you  to  find  out  some- 
thing for  me,  and  I  don't  want  Granny  to  know  yet 
that  I'm  thinking  about  it.  You  may  think  she  ought  to 
know." 

"  I  suppose  it's  something  about  the  war,"  said  Wil- 
braham, with  the  memory  before  him  of  Harry's  silence 
after  that  speech  of  Lady  Brent's  at  dinner. 

"  I  shan't  tell  you  what  it  is  unless  it's  only  between 
you  and  me,"  said  Harry.  "  I've  a  right  to  my  own 
thoughts." 

"  Very  well,  then,  I  promise." 

"  I  want  you  to  find  out  for  me  exactly  what  chances 
there  are  of  my  being  able  to  get  a  commission  without 
going  through  the  regular  Sandhurst  training.  I  don't 
think  I  want  to  wait  for  that  if  there  are  other 
ways." 

Wilbraham  considered  this.  "  You're  only  seventeen," 
he  said. 

"  Nearly  eighteen,"  said  Harry,  "  and  a  fine-grown 
boy  for  my  age." 

"  Why    shouldn't    you    want    your    grandmother    to 


210  SIRHARRY. 

know?  You  heard  what  she  said  just  now.  If  things 
are  going  to  be  altered  so  that  training  is  cut  short, 
she's  quite  ready  for  you  to  take  advantage  of  that." 

"  Ah,  yes.  She  couldn't  help  it,  you  see.  But  I  think 
she'd  do  what  she  could  to  stop  me  doing  anything  that 
could  be  helped.  I  want  to  know  if  there  is  any  other 
way  before  I  say  anything  to  her  at  all.  I  know  so  little 
about  it.  But  supposing  I  could  get  ray  commission 
quicker  by  enlisting,  for  instance." 

"  Oh,  my  dear  boy,  you  wouldn't  want  to  do  that. 
You  heard  what  she  said.  She  was  quite  right  there.  I 
believe  the  men  of  your  family  have  been  soldiers  for  as 
long  as  the  men  of  any  family." 

"  That's  just  why  I  want  to  be  one,  now  there's  some 
sense  in  soldiering,  and  as  quickly  as  possible." 

"  Yes,  but  as  an  officer.  We're  not  so  hard  pressed 
yet  that  we  want  to  cut  grindstones  with  razors.  It 
would  be  waste  of  material  for  you  to  enlist." 

"  Not  if  it  led  more  quickly  to  being  an  officer.  That's 
what  I  should  do  it  for.  I  know  it  has  been  done. 
People  did  it  in  the  South  African  War." 

"  Well,  yes.  But  that  was  in  order  to  go  and  fight — 
at  once.  You're  not  ready  for  that  yet.  You  won't  be 
eighteen  till  December.  They  wouldn't  take  you  any- 
how, unless  you  concealed  your  age,  which,  of  course, 
you  wouldn't  do — couldn't  do,  either,  because  you're 
known.  Besides,  your  grandmother,  who  is  your  legal 
guardian,  could  stop  you.  Why  hurry  things?  You'll 
be  at  Sandhurst  in  a  few  months'  time.  Then  if  there's 
any  way  to  hurry  things  up  you  can  find  it  out  for  your- 


DILEMMA  211 

self.  I  don't  want  to  act  against  your  grandmother  in 
this,  Harry.  I  don't  think  it's  fair  to  her." 

"  Well,  perhaps  it  wouldn't  be  quite  fair  to  you  to 
ask  you  to  do  it,"  said  Harry,  with  his  engaging  smile ; 
"  at  least,  not  if  nothing  could  come  out  of  it.  I  sup- 
pose you're  quite  sure  that  they  wouldn't  take  me  till 
I  was  eighteen." 

"  Oh,  yes.  The  proclamations  say  so.  You  can  see 
it  for  yourself." 

"  Oh,  well,  then,"  said  the  boy,  rising  from  his  seat, 
"  I  suppose  there's  nothing  to  be  done  just  yet.  I  only 
wanted  to  be  quite  sure  that  I  wasn't  leaving  anything 
undone  that  I  could  do.  I  don't  think  Granny  takes 
quite  the  same  view,  you  know.  Anyhow,  there's  nothing 
to  bother  her  or  mother  for  some  months  to  come.  1 
think  mother  will  be  waiting  for  me." 

He  passed  Wilbraham,  still  sitting  at  the  table,  and 
put  his  hand  on  his  shoulder.  "  I  shall  see  her  to-mor- 
row," he  said,  in  a  low  voice.  He  laughed  a  boyish  laugh 
of  sheer  happiness  and  ran  out  of  the  hall. 


CHAPTER    XVII 

THE   END    OF    THE    SUMMER 

IT  was  a  golden  day  in  September,  which  is  perhaps 
the  most  beautiful  of  all  English  months,  though  touched 
with  a  gentle  melancholy  that  may  be  either  soothing  or 
saddening,  according  to  circumstances.  Regarded  as 
the  time  for  taking  up  a  new  spell  of  work  or  duty  after 
the  relaxation  of  summer  holiday,  it  is  a  delightful 
month,  especially  when  the  surroundings  in  which  the 
work  is  to  be  done  are  such  as  existed  at  Royd.  The 
Grant  family  had  returned  from  the  seaside  and  the 
Vicar-novelist  was  positively  revelling  in  his  enjoyment 
of  home,  and  declaring  that  the  best  day  of  a  holiday 
was  its  last.  He  had  acquired  a  splendid  idea  for  a  novel 
which  should  excel  all  previous  novels  of  his  by  many 
degrees,  and  put  into  the  shade  a  large  number  of  novels 
by  other  writers  who  had  hitherto  enjoyed  a  success  in 
advance  of  his  own.  He  had  sat  down  to  write  the  first 
chapter  on  the  morning  after  their  arrival  at  the  Vicar- 
age, and  felt  to  the  full  the  restful  charm  of  his  clean, 
comfortable  room,  with  all  his  books  and  conveniences 
around  him,  and  the  garden  outside  in  the  full  coloured 
glow  of  its  autumn  profusion. 

Jane  and  Pebbles  had  resumed  their  studies  under  the 
guidance  of  Miss  Minster,  and  if  they  were  without  the 
experience  of  satisfaction  on  that  account  which  their 

212 


THE    END    OF    THE    SUMMER      213 

father  enjoyed,  there  was  yet  satisfaction  to  be  gained 
from  returning  to  the  society  of  Harry,  to  whom  they 
had  an  enormous  amount  of  information  to  impart. 

Harry  had  also  begun  work  again.  The  next  three 
months  were  to  be  strenuous  ones  for  him,  with  many 
hours  to  be  spent  with  Wilbraham  and  many  more  with 
an  army  coach  who  had  been  called  in  to  supplement 
Wilbraham's  deficiencies.  This  was  Mr.  Hamerton,  an 
obscure  man  of  middle  age,  who  hated  coaching  embryo 
subalterns,  hated  the  society  of  women,  and  enjoyed  life 
only  when  in  the  embrace  of  the  purest  of  pure  mathe- 
matics. He  was  probably  the  most  serenely  happy  of 
all  the  inhabitants  of  Royd  Castle  at  this  time.  His 
hours  with  Harry  were  strictly  defined,  and  his  pupil, 
though  not  an  enthusiast  in  mathematics  as  he  would 
have  liked  him  to  be,  showed  intelligence  and  application. 
The  house  was  not  always  full  of  fresh  people  with  whom 
he  had  to  begin  all  over  again,  and  he  was  not  expected 
to  spend  valuable  hours  in  desultory  and  desolating  con- 
versation with  the  ladies  of  the  house  itself,  whom  he 
met  only  at  meal-times.  He  had  most  of  his  time  to  him- 
self in  the  large  quiet  house,  which  he  seldom  quitted, 
and  Harry  had  given  up  to  him  his  room  in  the  tower, 
from  the  top  of  which  he  could  observe  the  stars  through 
a  telescope  of  more  respectable  dimensions  than  it  was 
customary  to  find  in  a  country  house.  Mr.  Hamerton, 
retiring  to  the  absolute  seclusion  of  his  room,  and  the 
hours  of  undisturbed  study  or  astronomical  contempla- 
tion so  happily  accorded  him,  would  rub  his  hands  with 
furtive  glee  over  his  good  fortune  in  having  obtained 
such  employment  as  this  ;  and  the  relief  to  all  other  mem- 


214  SIRHARRY 

bers  of  the  household  in  having  him  out  of  the  way  was 
unspeakable. 

Harry  was  with  the  children  in  the  log  cabin.  They 
had  been  home  a  fortnight,  but  this  was  the  first  time 
that  they  had  succeeded  in  drawing  Harry  there,  though 
they  had  raced  up  to  it  themselves  at  the  first  possible 
moment  after  their  return. 

It  was  Saturday  afternoon.  They  had  had  a  picnic 
tea,  with  the  "  billy  "  boiled  on  a  fire  made  of  sticks 
outside,  and  everything  in  orthodox  backwoods  fashion. 
Jane  and  Pobbles  had  looked  forward  to  it  enormously, 
but  somehow  it  had  not  been  quite  the  success  that  they 
had  anticipated,  though  Harry  had  made  himself  very 
busy  with  the  preparations,  and  on  the  outside  every- 
thing had  seemed  to  be  as  it  had  been  before  they  went 
away.  Now  he  and  Jane  were  sitting  on  the  bench  out- 
side the  cabin,  while  Pobbles  had  reluctantly  retired  to 
fulfil  a  half-hour's  engagement  with  Miss  Minster,  con- 
sequent upon  some  scholastic  failure  on  his  part  earlier 
in  the  week. 

The  two  of  them  had  been  talking,  as  they  had  been 
wont  to  talk,  playing  with  the  idea  of  such  a  life  as  this 
as  a  real  life  and  not  a  make-believe.  But  the  virtue 
had  gone  out  of  such  play  for  Harry.  Even  now,  as  he 
did  his  best  to  respond  to  Jane  and  not  to  let  her  see 
that  his  heart  was  no  longer  in  any  game,  he  was  think- 
ing of  the  last  time  he  had  sat  where  he  was  sitting  now, 
with  Viola,  and  talked  in  something  of  the  same  way, 
but  with  how  different  a  meaning  behind  the  talk ! 

The  talk  died  down.  In  Jane's  sensitive  little  soul 
was  the  knowledge  that  Harry's  heart  was  not  in  it.  She 


THE    END    OF    THE    SUMMER      215 

looked  up  at  him  and  saw  his  eyes  fixed  on  something 
beyond  the  green  and  russet  of  the  trees  in  front  of 
them,  and  caught  the  look  of  yearning  in  his  face. 

"  Aren't  you  happy,  Harry  ?  "  she  asked.  "  I'll  go 
away  and  not  bother  you,  if  you'd  like  me  to." 

He  turned  quickly  to  her,  full  of  compunction  that  he 
should  have  failed  her  after  all.  He  had  been  so  deter- 
mined that  the  children  should  see  no  difference  in  him. 
Why,  indeed,  should  there  be  any  towards  them?  He 
had  looked  forward  to  their  return  after  Viola  had  gone 
away.  His  affection  for  them,  because  of  their  child- 
hood, was  in  some  ways  nearer  to  his  love  for  Viola  than 
other  affections  of  his  life ;  they  would  console  him  for 
the  loss  of  her.  And  they  had  done  so ;  but  his  longing 
for  her  was  so  great,  and  no  consolation  was  of  much 
avail  to  ease  it. 

"  Of  course  I  don't  want  you  to  go  away,  dear,"  he 
said.  "  I'd  rather  have  you  with  me  than  anybody.  No, 
I'm  not  unhappy — perhaps  a  little  sad  sometimes.  Lots 
of  things  have  happened  since  you  went  away,  you  know. 
I  shall  be  going  away  myself  before  long,  and  as  long  as 
the  war  lasts  nothing  will  be  quite  like  what  it  was 
before." 

"  Is  it  only  the  war  that  makes  you  sad?  "  she  asked. 
"  If  there's  anything  else,  I  wish  you'd  tell  me,  now  we're 
alone  together.  Of  course,  with  Pobbles  I  suppose  I'm 
rather  like  a  boy,  and  with  you,  too,  when  we're  all  three 
together.  But  I'm  not  always  like  that — inside,  I  mean. 
I'm  really  more  grown  up  than  you'd  think." 

Harry  put  his  arm  around  her  thin  shoulders  and 
gave  her  a  fraternal  hug.  "  You're  a  dear,"  he  said. 


216  SIRHARRY 

"  I  don't  really  think  of  you  as  like  a  boy.  There's 
something  comforting  about  your  being  a  girl,  though  I 
don't  think  about  you  as  being  grown  up,  either." 

"  Well  then,  tell  me,  Harry,"  she  said,  coaxingly. 
"  We're  real  friends,  aren'f  we?  I'd  tell  you  if  there  was 
anything  that  was  making  me  unhappy.  I  suppose  I 
should  tell  mother  first,  but  after  her  I'd  tell  you — be- 
cause we're  friends." 

The  inclination  came  to  him  to  pour  out  his  burdened 
heart  to  her,  but  he  put  it  aside.  She  was  a  dear  loyal 
little  soul,  and  it  would  assuage  his  longing  to  talk  to 
her  about  Viola;  but  he  could  not  burden  her  with  a 
secret,  to  relieve  his  own  burden.  "  I'm  not  really  un- 
happy," he  said,  "  only  rather  sad.  There  is  something 
— perhaps  I'd  tell  you  if  you  were  older,  because  we're 
friends.  Anyhow,  being  friends  with  you  makes  me  less 
sad.  I  didn't  mean  you  to  know  anything." 

"  Of  course  I  should  know,"  she  said.  "  But  I  won't 
ask  you  any  more  if  you  don't  want  to  tell  me." 

He  smiled  at  her  affectionately.  "  You'll  be  the  first 
person  I  shall  tell  when  I  tell  anybody,"  he  said.  He 
thought  for  a  moment,  with  a  frown  of  concentration. 
"  I  don't  think  there's  any  harm  in  our  having  a  little 
secret  together — one  of  our  play  secrets.  If  I  ever  have 
anything  rather  important  to  tell  you — something  that 
I  shouldn't  want  other  people  not  to  know,  but  I  should 
like  to  tell  you  first — I  shall  come  here  very  early  in  the 
morning  and  put  a  little  note  just  under  the  window 
sill,  in  the  crack,  do  you  see?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Jane,  her  face  alight.  "  That'll  be 
lovely.  I  don't  mind  your  not  telling  me  now,  Harry,  if 


THE    END   OF    THE    SUMMER      217 

you'll  do  it  like  that,  so  that  I  shall  know  before  any- 
body else.  Thanks  ever  so  much." 

The  return  of  Pobbles  at  this  moment,  with  his  soul 
as  emancipated  as  his  body,  changed  the  current  of  their 
conversation.  For  the  rest  of  their  time  together  Harry 
was  all  that  he  had  been  as  a  companion,  and  Jane  exer- 
cised a  more  rigid  control  over  Pobbles  than  the  women 
of  a  family  usually  bring  to  bear  upon  the  men.  But 
every  now  and  then  she  looked  at  Harry  with  a  glance 
that  belied  the  extreme  masculinity  of  her  deportment. 
How  much  did  she  guess,  with  her  budding  woman's  mind 
and  her  wholly  woman's  sympathies?  Nothing  of  the 
truth,  it  may  be  supposed;  but  her  instincts  told  her 
that  there  was  a  change  in  him  that  would  not  pass 
away  through  the  solution  of  any  difficulty  that  might 
be  troubling  him,  and  that  he  would  never  be  quite  the 
same  as  he  had  been  before. 

Others  had  noted  it  besides  Jane.  The  Grants  and 
Miss  Minster  talked  it  over  that  evening  as  they  sat  in 
their  pretty  drawing-room  after  dinner,  to  the  adorn- 
ment of  which  had  been  added  an  old  walnut  wood  bu- 
reau and  a  pair  of  Sheffield  plate  candlesticks,  brought 
home  as  spoil  from  the  seaside  town  where  they  had  been 
staying.  Grant's  eyes  rested  on  them  with  satisfaction 
many  times  during  their  conversation.  The  war  might 
be  entering  upon  a  stage  which  promised  a  far  longer 
and  harder  struggle  than  any  one  had  hitherto  antici- 
pated, and  royalties  as  well  as  other  payments  might 
be  affected  by  it;  but  Grant's  royalties  had  come  in 
lately  to  an  encouraging  extent  and  there  was  still  good 
old  furniture  to  be  picked  up  at  bargain  prices  if  you 


218  SIRHARRY 

kept  your  eyes  open,  and  plenty  of  room  in  the  Vicarage 
for  more. 

Not  to  appear  to  be  criticizing  our  clerico-novelist 
too  severely  for  a  detachment  that  was  shared  by  thou- 
sands who  were  afterwards  personally  drawn  into  the 
turmoil,  it  may  be  said  that  nobody  at  this  time,  unless 
it  was  those  at  the  very  heart  of  it,  gauged  the  immens- 
ity of  the  disaster  that  was  settling  down  upon  Europe 
and  would  presently  involve  the  whole  civilized  world. 
In  future  years,  with  the  knowledge  of  the  more  than 
four  years  of  war  that  were  then  still  to  come  in  retro- 
spect, it  will  be  difficult  for  the  student  to  understand 
just  how  life  was  altered  and  how  it  remained  unaffected, 
and  the  slow  stages  that  England  passed  through  until 
there  was  nobody  anywhere  whose  life  remained  what  it 
had  been  before  the  war. 

In  those  early  days  there  was  immense  interest  in  the 
incidents  of  warfare,  more,  indeed,  than  was  taken  at 
a  later  date,  when  the  lock  of  vast  armies  on  a  line  that 
remained  very  nearly  the  same  until  the  end  had  reduced 
the  expectation  of  surprise;  the  papers  were  eagerly 
read  every  morning  for  the  hoped  for  news  of  decisive 
success,  but  unless  there  was  a  personal  interest  in  it,  as 
there  was  not  at  this  time  at  Royd,  the  war  did  not 
obscure  other  interests,  or  even  affect  them. 

The  advent  of  Mr.  Hamerton  had  brought  the  ap- 
proaching change  in  Harry's  life  more  into  evidence. 
"  I  think  he's  taking  it  all  very  seriously,"  Mrs.  Grant 
said.  "  Thank  goodness  he  is  too  young  to  go  and 
fight,  but,  of  course,  it  will  bring  it  nearer  to  him,  going 


THE    END    OF    THE    SUMMER      219 

to  Sandhurst ;  and,  anyhow,  it  will  be  a  great  change  in 
his  life." 

"  I  thing  he  is  worrying  a  bit  that  he's  not  old  enough 
to  go  and  fight,"  said  Grant.  "  Most  boys  of  his  age — 
nearly  old  enough,  but  not  quite — would  feel  like  that 
about  it." 

"  He  has  changed  a  good  deal  since  we  went  away," 
said  Mrs.  Grant.  "  He  seems  to  me  older  altogether. 
I  think  the  children  feel  it  too.  He's  just  as  sweet  to 
them  as  ever,  but  Pebbles  said  this  evening  that  he 
wasn't  nearly  so  much  fun  to  play  with." 

"  Pebbles  brings  everything  to  that  test,"  said  Miss 
Minster.  "  If  he  does  not  mend  his  ways,  I  anticipate 
an  evil  future  for  him." 

"  You've  always  been  hard  onPobbles,"said  Mrs.  Grant. 
"  There's  very  little  that's  really  wrong  with  Pobbles." 

"  Thanks  chiefly  to  me,"  said  Miss  Minster.  "  I'm 
inclined  to  think  that  there's  friction  again  at  the  Castle. 
Poor  Mrs.  Brent  was  as  lugubrious  as  possible  when  she 
came  yesterday,  and  Mr.  Wilbraham  has  the  same  dis- 
agreeable air  as  he  used  to  go  about  with  earlier  in  the 
summer." 

"  That's  true  about  Wilbraham,"  said  Grant.  "  He 
has  been  seeing  a  great  deal  of  a  London  artist  who  was 
lodging  at  Mrs.  Ivimey's  on  the  common.  Perhaps  it 
has  made  him  discontented  with  his  lot  here  once  more." 

"  Has  he  said  anything  to  you  about  it?  "  asked  Mrs. 
Grant. 

"  No.  Curiously  enough,  he  didn't  seem  to  want  to 
talk  much  about  the  artist.  He  just  said  that  he  was 


220  SIR   HARRY 

an  interesting  fellow  to  talk  to,  but  they'd  decided  not 
to  ask  him  to  the  Castle.  He  had  his  daughter  with 
him,  and  I  suppose  they'd  have  had  to  ask  her  too, 
though  Wilbraham  didn't  give  that  as  a  reason,  and 
only  just  mentioned  her.  But  he  seems  to  have  gone  up 
to  talk  to  the  father  most  afternoons." 

"  You  know  the  village  gossip  about  the  artist,  don't 
you?  "  said  Mrs.  Grant. 

"  I  don't  encourage  village  gossip,"  said  the  Vicar. 

"  How  very  superior  you  are !  "  said  Miss  Minster. 
"  I  love  it." 

"  Perhaps  you  would  rather  I  didn't  tell  you  what 
they  say,  dear,"  suggested  Mrs.  Grant. 

"  I  think  it's  my  duty  to  hear  it,"  said  the  Vicar  with 
a  grin. 

"  Well,  they  say  he  was  a  hard  drinker,  and  the  num- 
ber of  empty  bottles  he  left  behind  him  was  past  belief." 

"  Perhaps  Mr.  Wilbraham  went  there  to  drink  with 
him,"  said  Miss  Minster,  "  and  that  accounts  for  his 
moroseness." 

"  You  oughtn't  to  say  a  thing  like  that,"  said  Grant. 
"  Wilbraham  is  a  teetotaler.  None  of  them  drink  any- 
thing at  the  Castle." 

"  Perhaps  that's  why  he  liked  going  to  see  the  artist," 
said  Miss  Minster,  impenitently. 

"  And  he  doesn't  even  drink  a  glass  of  claret  when  he 
lunches  or  dines  here.  No,  you  ought  not  to  say  that, 
even  in  fun.  I  think  what's  the  matter  with  him  is  that 
his  teaching  of  Harry  is  coming  to  an  end.  Of  course 
he  has  been  here  for  many  years,  and  I  suppose  he'll 
have  to  look  about  for  something  else  to  do.  I  don't 


THE    END   OF    THE    SUMMER      221 

suppose  he  really  likes  handing  Harry  over  to  Hamerton 
for  a  lot  of  his  work.  In  fact,  he  said  as  much.  He's 
devoted  to  the  boy." 

"  Everybody  is,"  said  Mrs.  Grant,  "  and  at  the  Castle 
everything  centres  round  him.  Poor  Lady  Brent  seems 
more  stiff  and  stand-offish  than  ever.  I  suppose  she 
feels  it  too,  that  everything  she  has  lived  for,  for  years 
past,  is  coming  to  an  end,  and  now  it  will  be  tested 
whether  she  has  been  right  in  bringing  a  boy  up  as  she 
has  Harry,  shut  away  from  the  world." 

"  I  shouldn't  call  Lady  Brent  stiff  and  stand-offish," 
said  Grant. 

"  I  only  meant  in  everything  that  has  to  do  with 
Harry.  One  would  like  to  talk  to  her  about  him, 
but " 

"  Surely  she's  always  ready  for  that !  "  interrupted 
Miss  Minster. 

"  Only  on  the  surface.  She  wouldn't  think  of  telling 
one  anything  that  she  must  be  feeling  about  the  future. 
Oh,  I  do  hope  everything  will  turn  out  right.  It  is  dan- 
gerous to  keep  a  boy  shut  up  as  Harry  has  been,  but  I 
think  it  will  pay  with  him.  He's  good  right  through, 
and  he's  a  splendid  boy  too — physically,  I  mean." 

"  A  good  man  on  a  horse,"  said  Grant,  in  a  voice  in- 
dicative of  quotation  marks.  "  Yes,  he's  not  been  molly- 
coddled. I'm  afraid  he'll  have  some  rude  shocks  when 
he  gets  among  other  young  fellows  of  his  age,  but  he'll 
be  just  as  good  as  they  are  in  the  things  that  young 
men  admire,  and  he  has  a  fine  character  to  carry  him 
through.  I  hope  she'll  be  justified  in  the  course  she  has 
taken.  I  think  she  will." 


222  SIR    HARRY 

September  wore  itself  out,  to  the  sadness  of  October, 
but  in  days  now  and  then  the  boon  of  summer  seemed  to 
linger.  Early  one  sunny  morning,  when  the  grass  was 
drenched  with  dew  and  sparkling  gossamer  curtains  hung 
upon  all  the  bushes,  little  Jane  ran  through  the  garden 
and  up  to  the  wood  where  the  log  cabin  was. 

The  day  before  Harry  had  come  to  tea  with  the  chil- 
dren in  the  school-room.  They  had  had  an  uproarious 
game  together  afterwards,  and  Pobbles  had  said  that  it 
was  more  fun  to  play  with  him  now  than  it  had  been 
before  the  holidays.  Jane,  too,  had  felt  that  there  was 
a  difference  in  him,  and  had  been  not  the  least  uproari- 
ous of  the  three.  There  was  a  weight  removed ;  perhaps 
Harry  would  tell  her  what  his  secret  was  now. 

Harry  had  kissed  both  her  and  Pobbles,  who  was  just 
not  too  old  to  take  the  attention  as  anything  but  a  com- 
pliment on  saying  good-bye.  He  had  said  nothing  to 
Jane,  but  had  given  her  a  quick  look  which  she  inter- 
preted at  once. 

That  was  why  she  had  got  up  as  early  as  possible 
that  dewy,  sparkling  morning  and  was  running  to  the 
cabin  as  fast  as  her  long  thin  legs  would  take  her. 

Between  the  board  which  formed  the  sill  of  the  win- 
dow and  the  vertical  half-logs  beneath  it  was  a  space 
which  she  had  often  examined  before,  but  with  no  result. 
Now  she  drew  from  it  a  piece  of  folded  paper.  It  was 
Harry's  promised  message  to  her — first  of  anybody: 

"  Dear  little  Jane — I'm  off  to  be  a  soldier.  Good-bye, 
dear,  and  love  from 

HARRY." 


CHAPTER    XVIII 

AFTERWARDS 

LADY  BRENT  and  Wilbraham  sat  by  the  fire  in  the  hour 
before  dinner.  The  summer  had  quite  gone  now.  The 
rain,  driven  by  a  gale  of  wind,  was  lashing  the  window 
panes.  There  was  an  impression  of  luxury  and  shelter 
in  the  handsome  closely  curtained  room  with  the  wood 
fire  on  the  hearth  and  the  soft  light  of  lamps  and  can- 
dles. But  there  was  little  sense  of  comfort  in  the  hearts 
of  its  occupants.  Lady  Brent  knitted  as  she  talked, 
and  to  outside  view  there  was  no  sign  of  the  sadness  and 
emptiness  which  lay  upon  her  and  over  the  whole  house. 
Wilbraham  was  in  frowning,  sombre  mood.  They  talked 
in  low  voices.  It  was  a  week  since  Harry  had  left  them, 
but  they  had  not  yet  begun  to  get  used  to  his  absence. 
Their  life  went  on,  but  it  seemed  now  to  be  devoid  of  all 
meaning.  It  was  almost  as  if  death  had  come  to  the 
house  and  its  shadow  still  lay  on  it. 

"  I  hope  you  won't  go,"  Lady  Brent  was  saying. 
"  After  all,  your  tutorship  of  Harry  was  only  part  of 
your  life  here.  You  have  been  one  of  our  little  family 
for  over  ten  years.  I  should  feel  Harry's  going  more  if 
you  went,  too;  and  so,  of  course,  would  Charlotte." 

Wilbraham  stirred  uneasily.  "  It  is  very  kind  of  you 
to  put  it  like  that,"  he  said.  But  her  words  had  not 

223 


224  SIRHARRY 

removed  the  frown  from  his  face,  and  he  did  not  say 
that  he  would  stay. 

There  was  silence  for  a  time.  Then  Wilbraham  said, 
suddenly :  "  Do  you  remember  that  evening  at  dinner 
when  Harry  asked  about  hurrying  up  his  training,  and 
you  told  him  that  enlistment  wouldn't  be  the  course  for 
him  to  follow,  whatever  it  might  be  for  others  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  perfectly.    Why  do  you  ask?  " 

"  Because  afterwards,  when  we  were  alone  together, 
he  came  back  to  it." 

"  Ah  !  "  she  said.    "  Why  didn't  you  tell  me?  " 

He  gave  a  short  laugh.  "  I  thought  you'd  ask  that," 
he  said.  "  I  wish  I  had,  sometimes,  though  I  doubt  if  it 
would  have  made  any  difference." 

"What  did  he  say?" 

"  He  began  by  saying  that  he  was  going  to  ask  me 
to  do  something  for  him.  I  could  do  it  or  not,  as  I 
thought  right,  but  I  wasn't  to  tell  you  about  it  in  either 
case." 

She  was  silent,  and  her  needles  clicked  steadily.  But 
there  had  been  the  slightest  pause  in  the  regular  sound 
of  them. 

"  It  was  only  to  save  you  and  his  mother  anxiety," 
Wilbraham  hurried  to  say.  "  I  had  to  give  the  promise, 
or  he  wouldn't  have  told  me  what  was  in  his  mind.  It 
was  to  find  out  for  him  whether  it  was  possible  to  get 
his  commission  sooner  by  enlisting.  Well,  I  said  at  once 
that  I  couldn't  do  that  behind  your  back,  and  I  told 
him  that  it  was  impossible  in  any  case  for  him  to  enlist 
before  he  was  eighteen.  He  seemed  to  be  satisfied.  In 
fact,  he  said  that  he  had  only  wanted  to  be  quite  sure 


AFTERWARDS  225 

that  he  was  leaving  nothing  undone  that  he  could  do. 
I  thought)  it  was  off  his  mind.  He  never  said  anything 
more  to  me  about  it." 

"  Well,  I  think  you  acted  rightly,"  she  said,  after  a 
pause.  "  Lhad  thought  it  all  out.  It  had  seemed  to  me 
possible  that  he  might  come  to  think  it  was  his  duty 
to  enlist,  as  the  war  went  on.  I  had  asked  myself 
whether  it  would  be  right  to  keep  him  back,  if  that  hap- 
pened, and  had  come  to  the  conclusion  that  there  was 
nothing  to  be  gained  by  his  enlisting — from  his  point  of 
view,  I  mean.  It  seemed  to  me  as  I  said  then,  on  the 
first  opportunity  for  saying  anything,  that — well,  you 
heard  what  I  said.  I  thought  he  had  accepted  it." 

"  So  did  I.  I'm  glad  I've  told  you,  but  I'm  not  sure 
that  you  could  have  done  anything.  I  believe  he  was 
satisfied  to  leave  it  alone  then.  It  came  to  him  after- 
wards— not  that  he  could  hurry  up  his  training  as  an 
officer,  but  that  it  was  his  duty  to  go  off  and  get  into  the 
lines  as  quickly  as  possible.  He  knew  you  wouldn't 
sanction  that,  and  I'd  already  told  him  that  you'd  have 
the  power  to  stop  his  enlisting.  So  he  thought  it  all 
out  for  himself,  and  kept  his  own  counsel." 

"  That  is  what  happened,"  she  said,  calmly.  "  I  have 
thought  that  out,  too.  I  think  he  was  right,  you  know — 
dear  Harry." 

He  looked  up  in  surprise  at  this. 

"  I  couldn't  have  sanctioned  it,"  she  said.  "  And  yet 
I  should  have  sympathized  with  him — much  more  than 
he  had  any  idea  of.  I'm  proud  of  him.  But,  oh,  how  I 
wish  he  could  have  trusted  me  a  little  more." 

She  laid  down  her  work  on  her  lap  and  gazed  into  the 


226 

fire.  Wilbraham  was  stirred  by  her  utterance,  so  unlike 
her,  with  her  calm  self-control  and  entire  command  over 
all  her  emotions,  to  which  even  now,  after  years  of 
knowing  her,  and  the  springs  of  her  conduct,  he  had 
small  clue. 

She  took  up  her  work  again,  and  spoke  with  as  much 
calmness  as  before.  "  I've  sometimes  asked  myself,"  she 
said,  "  whether  I  wasn't  getting  so  much  interested  in 
carrying  out  a  great  experiment  as  to  forget  what  it  all 
tended  to.  But  I  don't  think  I  can  fairly  lay  that  to 
my  charge.  I  have  loved  the  boy  too  much  to  treat  him 
just  as  the  object  of  an  experiment.  If  at  any  time  I 
had  thought  that  I — that  we — were  not  doing  rightly 
by  him  in  keeping  him  here  away  from  everything  that 
might  have  prepared  him  for  the  future,  in  the  way  that 
other  boys  are  prepared  for  it — I  should  have  given  up 
the  idea,  and  let  the  world  in  on  us — and  on  him.  At  the 
beginning  I  don't  think  I  had  any  thought  of  carrying 
the  seclusion  as  far  as  I  have  done.  That  was  only  to 
have  been  for  his  childhood.  But  it  has  been  so  fascinat- 
ing to  see  him  grow  up  here  and  only  become  stronger 
and  finer  as  he  got  older.  I  don't  think  he  has  missed 
anything  that  would  have  been  for  his  good.  Anything 
that  he  has  missed  has  been  made  up  to  him  in  other 
ways.  His  intense  love  of  nature — none  of  us  have  been 
able  to  share  that  with  him  to  increase  his  love  for  it, 
but  I  have  watched  it  with  a  glad  heart.  It  has  seemed 
as  if  my  plan  had  been  helped  by  it,  in  a  way  I  couldn't 
have  expected — or  at  least  not  to  that  extent.  And  the 
way  the  people  all  love  him  here!  He  had  got  right 
down  into  their  hearts  as  he  couldn't  have  done  unless  he 


AFTERWARDS  227 

had  lived  with  them  day  after  day,  all  the  year  round, 
and  for  year  after  year,  so  that  they  have  been  his 
friends  outside  his  home,  and  not  people  away  from  here 
or  coming'  here  from  time  to  time  with  whom  they  could 
have  no  concern.  Everything  has  encouraged  me  to  go 
on.  Even  the  extra  freedom  that  he  has  taken  to  him- 
self of  late  has  pleased  me.  He  hasn't  felt  himself  fet- 
tered. He  has  had  the  life  he  wanted,  and  surely  it  must 
have  been'  the  best  life  one  could  have  given  him,  if  it 
has  made  him  so  happy." 

"  Yes,"  said  Wilbraham.  "  He  has  made  himself 
happy,  and  he  can  be  trusted." 

The  unhappy  look  on  his.  face  had  not  lightened  dur- 
ing her  long  speech,  and  he  spoke  now  as  if  to  reassure 
himself  that  what  she  had  said  was  true.  Ever  since 
Harry  had  gone  off  before  dawn  on-that  morning  a  week 
ago,  leaving^messages  of  love  and  farewell  for  his  mother 
and  grandmother,  he  had  been  asking  himself  the  mean- 
ing of  it,  and  whether  it  was  right  for  him  any  longer 
to  keep  back  from  Lady  Brent  what  he  knew  about 
Harry  and  she  didn't. 

How  much  had  Viola--had  to  do  with  it?  Nothing,  he 
was  sure,  in  persuasion  of  Harry.  But  Wilbraham  knew 
that  his  love  for  her  had  changed  the  whole  current  of 
his  life.  Perhaps  he  wouldn't  have  gone  off  like  that  if 
he  had  never  seen  her. 

If  Wilbraham  could  have  made  up  his  mind  to  tell 
Lady  Brent  everything,  he  would  have  been  able  to  gain 
from  her  some  consolation  in  return.  He  needed  it  at  this 
time.  She  was  the  only  person  who  knew  of  his  tempta- 
tion, and  she  had  been  good  to  him  about  it  in  the  past. 


228  SIR   HARRY 

The  poor  man  was  going  through  a  bad  time  on  his 
own  account.  Perhaps  he  was  just  emerging  from  it, 
but  its  effects  were  still  heavy  on  him.  After  seeing 
Viola  and  her  father  together,  in  an  atmosphere  so  dif- 
ferent from  that  in  which  he  had  first  seen  Bastian  alone, 
he  had  had  a  vivid  sense  of  shame,  which  had  increased 
after  he  had  seen  Harry,  The  idealism  of  their  fresh 
youth  had  made  his  own  lapse  look  very  ugly  to  him,  and 
still  more  the  knowledge  which  he  had  not  admitted  to 
himself  until  later  that  he  was  still  playing  with  the  idea 
of  drinking  with  Bastian,  though  rejecting  the  possi- 
bility of  being  caught  once  more  in  the  toils. 

But  the  toils  had  caught  him,  though  that  first  glass 
of  whisky  that  he  had  drunk  with  Bastian  had  also  been 
the  last.  Village  gossip,  if  it  connected  his  name  with 
that  of  Bastian  as  a  big  drinker,  had  done  him  an  injus- 
tice. He  had  gone  to  see  Bastian  two  or  three  times,  and 
had  told  him  straight  out  the  first  time  the  truth  about 
himself.  Bastian  had  treated  the  confidence  with  ready 
sympathy,  and  Wilbraham  had  never  seen  the  whisky 
bottle  while  he  was  with  him.  He  had  said  that  he  didn't 
really  care  about  it  himself,  which  Wilbraham  took  as  a 
speech  of  politeness.  If  there  was  foundation  for  village 
gossip,  he  must  have  given  cause  for  it  at  other  times 
of  the  day. 

Bastian  might  be  able  to  drink  or  refrain  from  drink- 
ing at  pleasure,  but  for  poor  Wilbraham  the  mischief 
had  been  done  with  that  one  glass.  He  had  had  periods 
of  longing  of  late  years,  always  at  rarer  intervals,  but 
none  of  them  had  been  so  strong  as  this.  He  was  tor- 
tured ;  sometimes  he  was  on  the  point  of  asking  Bastian 


AFTERWARDS  229 

for  God's  sake  to  give  him  something.  He  was  drawn 
there  in  a  way  he  could  not  explain ;  his  irritated  brain 
rejected  reasoning,  and  he  would  not  keep  away.  It 
was  certainly  the  fact  that  he  had  drunk  spirits  at  the 
cottage  that  attracted  him,  and  yet  he  was  fighting  the 
desire  all  the  time.  But  once  again  he  talked  to  Viola 
there,  and  he  had  thoughts  of  Harry  always  before  him. 
When  for  the  last  time  he  saw  Bastian  and  said  good- 
bye to  him  he  knew  that  the  danger  of  a  fall  was 
over. 

But  the  craving  had  continued.  Bastian  had  been 
gone  nearly  a  month,  and  he  still  felt  it,  though  now  it 
was  at  last  getting  weaker.  There  was  no  danger  of 
falling  at  Royd.  There  was  no  public  house  there,  no 
wine  or  spirits  were  drunk  at  the  Castle,  and  he  had 
attained  enough  mastery  of  himself  to  have  no  tempta- 
tion to  go  further  where  he  could  get  drink. 

His  own  troubles  had  prevented  his  mind  from  being 
filled  with  thoughts  of  Harry,  and  he  was  now  blaming 
himself  for  a  possible  carelessness  towards  signs  which 
might  have  shown  him  what  the  boy  must  have  been 
making  up  his  mind  to  during  the  last  month.  He  had 
seen  him  sad,  after  Viola's  departure,  and  he  had  never 
mentioned  her  name  to  Wilbraham,  as  he  had  done  once 
or  twice  before.  So  far  as  Wilbraham  knew,  no  letters 
passed  between  them.  The  post-bag  came  to  the  Castle 
once  a  day  and  was  unlocked  by  Lady  Brent.  It  would 
have  been  unlike  Harry  to  arrange  for  letters  to  be  sent 
to  him  through  a  secret  source ;  Wilbraham  was  pretty 
sure  that  he  had  not  done  so. 

In  his  effort  to  distract  his  mind  from  the  urgency 


230  SIR   HARRY 

that  was  riding  it,  Wilbraham  had  gone  about  among 
the  tenantry  more  than  usual.  He  had  kept  his  ears 
open  for  signs  that  Harry's  meetings  with  Viola  had 
become  known,  and  could  find  none.  He  had  gone  to 
see  Mrs.  Ivimey  once  since  Bastian's  departure,  and  she 
had  been  loud  in  her  praises  of  "  the  young  lady."  She 
had  even  said  that  if  things  hadn't  been  as  they  were, 
by  which  he  imagined  her  to  be  alluding  chiefly  to  Bas- 
tian's drinking  habits,  she  and  Sir  Harry  would  have 
made  "  a  pretty  pair."  Wilbraham  was  sure,  from  her 
way  of  saying  it,  that  she  had  no  idea,  or  suspicion,  of 
their  having  met.  The  woods  were  of  great  extent,  and, 
apart  from  a  few  rarely  frequented  paths  and  rides, 
almost  as  little  known  as  when  they  had  been  primeval 
forest.  A  few  woodmen  were  employed  in  them,  but  at 
this  time  they  were  at  work  felling  at  the  other  end  of 
the  manor.  It  seemed  almost  certain  that  no  one  had 
ever  seen  the  two  together. 

Harry's  sadness  would  pass.  He  was  still  a  boy,  in 
years  hardly  more  than  a  child,  and  Viola  was  no  older. 
If  they  were  thrown  together  over  years,  their  young 
love  might  ripen  into  the  love  of  a  life-time ;  as  it  was,  it 
would  probably  die  down  to  a  fragrant  memory — a 
love-idyll  of  summer  woods,  happy  and  innocent,  but 
no  more  than  the  budding  of  love  in  the  tender  hearts 
of  two  pretty  children.  Wilbraham  even  thought  that 
Harry  might  have  put  it  aside  from  him,  at  least  for  a 
time.  His  poise  of  mind  was  so  in  advance  of  his  years 
that  it  would  not  be  surprising  if  that  were  so.  He  had 
thrown  himself  ardently  into  the  three  months'  work 
asked  of  him,  and  if  he  was  no  longer  merry  and  light- 


AFTERWARDS  231 

hearted,  as  he  had  been,  he  seemed  to  be  in  full  posses- 
sion of  himself  and  concentrated  in  purpose.  By  and 
by,  when  Wilbraham  had  passed  through  his  own 
troubles,  he  might  talk  to  him  about  Viola,  and  find  out 
how  it  lay  with  them.  At  present  there  seemed  to  be 
nothing  to  do  but  to  follow  Harry's  example  and  con- 
centrate his  mind  upon  the  important  business  in  hand, 
which  was  Harry's  preparation  for  his  coming  examina- 
tion. 

So  Wilbraham  had  thought  and  so  he  had  acted,  with 
a  troubled  longing  for  the  time  when  he  should  once 
more  be  free  of  his  own  burden.  But  now  he  doubted. 
One  thing  was  fairly  clear.  By  going  away  Harry 
would  be  in  touch  again  with  Viola  as  he  could  not  be 
at  Royd.  Wilbraham  did  not  suppose  that  to  be  the  sole 
or  even  the  chief  reason  for  his  going  away,  but  it  had 
probably  counted  in  his  decision. 

Harry  had  ridden  off  on  his  horse,  before  dawn,  prob- 
ably some  hours  before  dawn,  for  nothing  had  been  seen 
of  him  in  the  country  in  which  he  was  known.  He  had 
worn  his  oldest  riding  suit,  and  as  far  as  could  be  said 
had  taken  scarcely  anything  with  him.  His  short  note 
to  his  grandmother,  and  longer  letter  to  his  mother  had 
said  that  he  was  going  to  enlist,  and  it  was  supposed 
that  he  intended  to  offer  himself  and  his  horse  to  a 
cavalry  regiment.  He  begged  that  no  attempt  should 
be  made  to  follow  or  to  stop  him  doing  what  he  had 
fully  made  up  his  mind  to.  He  would  write  in  a  few 
days,  when  affairs  had  been  settled  for  him*  but  after 
that  he  would  not  write  at  all  until  he  had  won  his  com- 
mission in  the  field.  He  made  no  apology  for  taking  the 


232  SIR   HARRY 

decision  into  his  own  hands,  and  offered  no  explanation 
'  of  it.  But  it  was  plain  that  he  meant  to  run  no  risk  of 
being  prevented  from  following  out  the  course  he  had 
laid  down  for  himself. 

Mrs.  Brent  had  been  full  of  lamentations.  Lady 
Brent  had  taken  it  very  calmly,  though  the  shock  it  was 
to  her  had  been  apparent  in  the  seriousness  and  sadness 
of  her  manner.  A  few  inquiries  were  made  as  to  whether 
Harry  had  been  seen  riding  away,  and  then  they  had 
waited  for  his  promised  letter. 

It  came  on  the  fourth  day,  with  a  London  postmark. 
He  had  been  accepted  for  enlistment.  He  was  in  bar- 
racks, well  and  happy.  His  letter — to  his  mother — was 
of  the  shortest,  but  contained  expressions  of  affection 
which  did  something  to  soothe  her  trouble. 

On  the  outside  his  action  was  that  of  a  spirited  boy 
who  had  made  up  his  mind  to  go  off  and  fight  and  was 
not  to  be  hampered  by  the  fears  and  objections  of  his 
elders.  But  to  Wilbraham  there  was  more  in  it  than 
that.  He  thought  that  Harry  might  have  made  up  his 
mind  to  the  course  he  had  taken  if  he  had  not  met  Viola, 
but  that  he  would  not  have  carried  it  out  in  quite  the 
same  way.  Then,  his  mother  and  grandmother  would 
have  been  the  only  people  whom  he  had  to  consider. 
Now  they  hardly  counted.  He  had  acted,  if  not  with 
want  of  kindness,  still  with  something  of  the  insensibility 
of  youth  towards  the  claims  of  its  elders.  They  would 
not  hear  from  him  again  for  months,  perhaps  for  years 
— though  a  lapse  of  years  seemed  unlikely  at  that  time. 
But  Viola  would  hear  from  him.  It  was  hard  on  the 


AFTERWARDS  233 

older  people  who  loved  him.  Wilbraham  knew  that  it 
was  bearing  hardly  upon  Lady  Brent. 

"  I  might  find  out  something  about  him  if  I  went  to 
London,"  Wilbraham  said,  after  neither  of  them  had 
spoken  for  a  time. 

She  looked  up  at  him  quickly,  and  laid  down  her  work. 
"  I  should  be  so  glad  to  know  where  he  is,"  she  said.  "  I 
should  like  him  to  know — if  it  were  only  possible  to  get 
it  to  him — that  I  should  make  no  effort  now  to  go 
against  him.  I  could,  you  know.  It  would  not  be  diffi- 
cult to  find  him ;  at  least,  it  would  not  be  impossible. 
But  I  shall  take  no  steps  to  override  his  will.  If  he 
knew  that,  surely  he  would  not  want  to  keep  himself  cut 
off  from  us !  He  could  write,  and  before  he  was  sent 
abroad  he  could  come  here  for  a  few  days.  Oh,  if  only 
you  could  find  out  where  he  is,  and  let  him  know  that ! " 

"  I'll  go  up  and  try,  if  you  like,"  said  Wilbraham. 

It  had  surprised  him  a  little  that  she  had  not  asked 
how  or  where  he  would  try.  He  would  go  straight  to 
Bastian,  whose  address  he  knew,  and  see  Viola.  In  mak- 
ing the  offer  he  had  half  intended,  if  she  pressed  him, 
to  unburden  himself  to  her  about  Viola.  He  did  not 
know  whether  he  was  relieved  or  disappointed  that  she 
asked  him  no  questions.  She  seemed  to  be  too  excited  to 
think  about  it,  though  she  did  say,  later  on,  that  he 
could  go  to  Mr.  Gulliver,  the  Brent  solicitor,  but  that  if 
he  did  so  Mr.  Gulliver  was  to  be  told  not  to  interfere 
with  Harry's  actions. 

"  The  sooner  the  better,"  said  Wilbraham.  "  I'd  bet- 
ter go  up  to-morrow." 

She  made  no  demur,  and  was  silent  for  a  time.     Then 


234  SIR   HARRY 

she  looked  at  him  kindly,  and  said :  "  There's  no  danger 
for  you  now,  is  there  ?  " 

He  was  overcome  with  a  wave  of  self-pity,  brought 
out  by  the  sympathy  of  her  tone.  "  I've  been  through 
a  bad  time,"  he  said.  "  I  think  it's  coming  to  an  end. 
I  don't  think  there's  any  danger  now." 

"  I've  seen  it,  of  course,"  she  said,  "  and  have  been 
very  sorry  for  you." 

He  had  not  thought  that  she  had  noticed.  Some  ex- 
planation seemed  due  to  her.  "  I  did  drink  some  spirits," 
he  said,  with  a  gulp.  "  Just  once.  I  thought  I  was  safe, 
but  it  brought  on  the  craving.  I've  had  my  lesson.  I 
know  that  I'm  different  from  other  men  now.  It's  not 
in  my  power  to  be  temperate.  It  has  to  be  nothing  at 
all  from  now  onwards." 

"  I  think  it's  the  only  way,"  she  said.  "  And  for 
years  together  here  you  haven't  missed  it,  have  you?" 

"  No,"  he  said.  "  It  was  very  wrong  to  do  it  at  all. 
I'm  ashamed  of  myself — after  you've  done  what  you 
have  for  me." 

One  thing  she  had  done  was  to  go  without  wine  at 
table,  except  on  the  rare  occasions  on  which  there  had 
been  guests  at  the  Castle.  That  had  been  for  his  sake, 
and  he  knew  it  will  enough,  though  she  had  never  men- 
tioned it.  She  deserved  his  confidence. 

"  It  was  when  I  went  to  see  Bastian — the  artist,"  he 
said.  "  After  the  first  time  I  told  him  how  it  was  with 
me,  and  he  never  drank  anything  himself  while  I  was 
with  him." 

"  In  the  village  they  say  he  was  a  heavy  drinker." 

It  surprised  him  to  hear  that  she  had  heard  about 


AFTERWARDS  235 

Bastian.  When  he  had  told  her  that  there  was  no  neces- 
sity to  ask  him  to  the  Castle,  she  had  seemed  to  lose  all 
interest  in  him,  and  had  never  mentioned  his  name  since. 

"  I  should  think  he  drinks  a  lot,"  he  said.  "  He  did 
when  I  was  with  him.  But  he  seems  to  be  one  of  those  men 
who  don't  get  caught  by  it.  To  say  he  is  a  heavy  drinker 
would  be  rather  unfair.  He  has  his  young  daughter  to 
look  after,  and  I  think  he'd  be  careful  what  he  did  for 
her  sake.  He's  a  gentleman,  though  he  seems  to  have 
come  down  in  the  world,  and  a  man  of  refinement." 

He  was  feeling  his  way  towards  a  confession.  She 
had  been  so  kind  to  him,  and  so  wonderful  in  her  under- 
standing of  what  had  impelled  Harry  to  the  course  he 
had  taken,  though  it  had  hit  her  hard,  that  his  inclina- 
tion was  to  tell  her,  and  trust  her  to  take  the  view  of  it 
that  he  had  taken  himself.  But  there  was  a  fence  to 
take  before  he  could  make  a  clean  breast  of  it.  He  had 
given  no  promise  to  Harry,  but  Harry  had  trusted  him 
to  keep  his  secret.  It  might  be  right  to  tell  Lady  Brent 
of  what  had  happened,  but  Harry  would  not  think  so. 
It  wanted  just  the  slight  pressure,  unconscious  on  her 
part,  of  what  it  would  bring  forth,  to  overcome  his 
reluctance  to  give  away  Harry's  secret. 

So  he  gave  her  an  opening  to  ask  him  about  Bastian, 
and  about  Viola.  But  she  did  not  take  it.  She  seemed 
to  be  thinking  of  something  else.  "  It  would  be  sad," 
she  said,  half  indifferently,  "  if  his  drinking  were  to 
affect  a  young  daughter.  I  think  I  should  like  you  to 
go  to  London  to-morrow.  It  would  be  a  great  comfort 
to  poor  Charlotte  to  know  where  Harry  is ;  and  to  me, 
too.  And  to  be  able  to  get  messages  to  him." 


CHAPTER    XIX 

WILBRAHAM    IN    IX3NDON 

IN  the  region  that  lies  to  the  north  of  Regent's  Park 
there  are  quiet  little  streets,  aside  from  the  ugly  crowded 
main  thoroughfares,  which  date  back  from  the  time,  not 
so  very  long  since,  when  there  were  pleasant  suburbs 
here,  and  the  open  country  lay  within  a  walk  of  the 
centre  of  London.  Wilbraham  found  himself  unex- 
pectedly in  one  of  them  in  his  search  for  the  address 
that  Bastian  had  given  him,  and,  as  he  waited  for  ad- 
mission at  the  door  upon  which  he  had  knocked,  looked 
about  him  with  a  sense  of  relief.  He  had  expected 
something  almost  approaching  squalor,  and  at  least 
noise  and  unrest.  But  it  was  not  painful  to  think  of 
the  girl  whom  Harry  loved  living  in  one  of  these  quiet 
little  houses. 

They  were  all  alike,  built  at  a  time  when  some  of  the 
quality  of  eighteenth  century  architecture,  which  hung 
about  the  simplest  building,  had  disappeared,  but  had 
not  yet  given  way  to  the  deadness  and  ugliness  that  fol- 
lowed it.  Nothing  could  have  been  simpler  than  this 
regular  street  of  small  houses,  each  with  one  window  and 
a  door  on  the  ground  floor,  two  windows  on  the  first, 
two  windows  on  the  second,  and  a  basement  with  a  nar- 

236 


WILBRAHAM    IN    LONDON       237 

row  area ;  but  their  very  monotony  was  restful,  and  they 
indicated  a  respectability  that  was  almost  aggressive. 
The  paint  was  nowhere  shabby,  the  brass  door  handles 
shone,  and  here  and  there  the  dirty  brick  of  one  of  the 
houses  had  been  cleaned  and  the  mortar  pointed.  They 
were  not  beneath  the  occupation  of  people  who  took  a 
pride  in  the  appearance  of  their  dwellings,  and  might 
even  have  money  enough  to  have  the  faces  of  them 
washed  and  their  interiors  modernized  before  they  made 
their  homes  in  them. 

As  Wilbraham  stood  at  the  top  of  the  few  steps  that 
led  to  the  entrance,  a  door  to  the  area  beneath  him 
opened  and  a  woman  looked  up  at  him,  and  then  imme- 
diately disappeared.  Mrs.  Ivimey's  sister,  evidently,  by 
the  likeness.  Somehow  the  fact  of  this  relationship  had 
been  forgotten.  Here  was  a  link  with  Royd.  If  Harry 
had  been  to  the  house,  or  should  come  there — !  He  had 
no  time  to  formulate  his  thoughts  before  shexopened  the 
door  to  him. 

He  introduced  himself  to  her  at  once,  before  asking 
for  Bastian.  She  was  a  clean  neat  woman  and  gave  him 
smiling  respectful  welcome  when  he  told  her  who  he  was. 
"  It's  many  years  since  I  was  down  in  those  parts,  sir," 
she  said.  "  But  I  hear  sometimes  from  my  sister,  and 
Mr.  Bastian,  the  gentleman  who  lodges  with  me,  has  been 
there  lately  and  told  me  a  good  deal  about  it." 

"  It's  him  I've  come  to  see,"  said  Wilbraham.  "  Is 
he  in?" 

"  Miss  Viola  is  in,  sir,"  she  said.  "  I  dare  say  you 
saw  her  when  she  was  at  Royd." 


238  SIR   HARRY 

"  Yes,"  said  Wilbraham.  "  I  should  like  to  see  her 
now,  if  you'll  tell  her  who  I  am." 

Here  was  a  lucky  chance.  It  was  Viola  he  wanted  to 
see,  and  apart  from  her  father,  if  possible.  Mrs.  Clark 
led  him  at  once  upstairs,  talking  volubly  as  she  did  so. 
But  she  did  not  mention  Harry.  Wilbraham  thought 
she  would  have  done  so  if  he  had  been  to  the  house. 

She  showed  him  into  a  room  on  the  first  floor,  after 
knocking  at  the  door  and  receiving  no  answer.  "  I 
expect  Miss  Viola  is  upstairs,"  she  said,  opening  the 
door.  "  I  don't  think  she's  gone  out  again.  If  you'll 
kindly  step  in,  sir,  I'll  go  and  tell  her  you're  here." 

Wilbraham  entered  the  room  with  some  curiosity.  It 
was  larger  than  he  had  anticipated,  extending  to  the 
whole  width  of  the  house  and  lit  by  the  two  windows. 
Its  main  furniture  was  good  and  solid,  of  about  the  date 
of  the  house,  when  furniture  had  lost  its  simplicity  of 
line  and  ornament,  but  still  showed  some  pride  of  crafts- 
manship. Except  for  an  upright  piano  with  a  front  of 
faded  fluted  red  silk,  which  might  or  might  not  have 
belonged  to  the  tenants,  it  was  all  probably  the  property 
of  the  landlady,  and  the  nondescript  wall  paper  and 
dark  green  curtains  were  also  probably  her  taste  and 
not  theirs.  But  the  books  in  shelves  on  either  side  of 
the  fireplace,  the  pictures  on  the  walls  and  the  clutter  of 
photographs  and  little  objects  for  use  or  ornament  on 
the  mantelpiece  and  elsewhere  about  the  room  struck  a 
different  note.  No  attempt  had  been  made  to  make  it 
other  than  it  was  by  nature,  but  it  had  the  air  of  a 
permanent  home,  occupied  by  people  of  some  refinement. 


WILBRAHAM    IN    LONDON       239 

Viola's  work-basket  was  on  a  small  table  by  the  wall, 
and  there  were  other  signs  of  feminine  occupancy  in  the 
room.  It  looked  cozy  enough,  with  a  bright  fire  burning, 
the  curtains  drawn  and  the  gas  lit ;  for  it  was  getting 
dark  outside.  Bastian  evidently  made  use  of  the  large 
shabby  easy  chair  by  the  fire,  for  there  was  a  tobacco 
jar  and  an  array  of  pipes  on  the  table  by  its  side,  and  a 
book  or  two.  With  his  daughter  sitting  opposite  to 
him,  on  a  winter  evening,  it  was  possible  to  imagine  him 
taking  pleasure  in  his  home  life.  It  would  be  quieter 
and  less  marked  by  poverty  than  Wilbraham  had  pic- 
tured it.  A  faint  odour  of  the  tobacco  that  Bastian 
used  hung  about,  but  there  were  flowers  in  a  vase  on 
Viola's  table,  and  fruit  in  a  plaited  basket  on  the  side- 
board. The  sideboard,  apt  to  be  so  much  in  evidence  in 
furnished  lodgings,  had  none  of  the  paraphernalia  of 
meals  on  it  in  the  way  of  cruets  or  bottles.  In  fact, 
there  were  no  bottles  to  be  seen  anywhere.  Wilbraham 
noticed  that  at  once,  for  his  own  trouble  had  made  him 
acutely  sensitive ;  he  had  no  fears  now  of  succumbing  to 
a  temptation  to  drink,  but  the  signs  of  drinking  by 
Bastian  would  have  affected  him  unhappily.  He  was  in- 
clined to  believe  that  he  had  to  some  extent  misread 
Bastian,  on  his  first  acquaintance  with  him.  It  could 
not  be  his  habitual  custom  to  drink  as  much  as  he  had 
done  on  that  afternoon,  or  Viola  would  be  more  affected 
by  it  than  she  was.  She  had  none  of  the  air  of  a 
girl  whose  life  had  been  saddened  by  a  father's  gross 
intemperance;  and  if  Bastian  had  been  kept  down  in  the 
world  by  this  failing  of  his,  as  he  had  said  he  had,  his 


240  SIRHARRY 

poverty  was  shown  by  this  room  to  be  more  relative 
than  actual. 

Wilbraham  dismissed  the  unpleasant  question  of  in- 
temperance, in  relief  at  the  signs  of  comfort  and  refine- 
ment that  he  saw  about  him.  The  table  in  the  middle 
of  the  room  was  laid  for  tea,  as  if  that  was  the  chief 
evening  meal  here.  Wilbraham  hoped  that  Bastian 
would  not  come  in  for  it  until  he  had  talked  to  Viola. 

He  made  his  way  to  the  mantelpiece,  upon  which  were 
a  good  many  photographs.  The  photographs  in  a  room 
tell  you  more  than  anything  about  its  occupants. 

Something  was  told  in  this  instance  by  the  fact  that 
they  were  all  a  good  many  years  old.  It  meant,  for  one 
thing,  that  Viola  and  her  father  must  have  lived  here  for 
some  time,  and  for  another  that  they  could  have  made 
few  friends  of  late  years. 

Wilbraham's  eye  was  caught  by  one  of  Bastian  as  a 
very  young  man  in  a  group  with  three  others,  taken  by 
a  Cambridge  photographer.  His  first  thought  as  he 
looked  at  it,  was  to  wonder  whether  he  himself  had 
changed  so  much  in  twenty  years.  Bastian  appeared  as 
a  young  man  fashionably  dressed  and  judging  by  his 
smile  pleased  with  the  world  in  general  and  with  his 
own  lot  in  it  in  particular.  He  had  been  more  than 
usually  good-looking  in  those  days.  There  was  another 
one  of  him  on  a  horse,  taken  at  about  the  same  time,  but 
not  at  Cambridge.  Wilbraham  wished  afterwards  that 
he  had  noticed  the  name  and  habitation  of  the  photog- 
rapher. Bastian  had  never  told  him  from  what  part  of 
the  country  he-  came,  or  anything  about  his  early  home 
and  upbringing.  But  it  was  evident  that  he  came  from 


WILBRAHAM    IN    LONDON       241 

what  it  is  customary  to  call  "  good  people."  It  was 
hardly  fair  to  keep  Viola  in  ignorance  of  her  parentage, 
which  might  possibly  prove  to  be  of  some  importance  to 
her. 

There  was  a  photograph  of  Viola  herself  at  the  age  of 
about  ten — a  pretty  child,  but  without  the  exceptional 
beauty  into  which  she  had  grown.  In  a  large  frame 
was  one  of  her  mother,  and  there  were  others  of  her  at 
different  stages.  Wilbraham  examined  them  with  some 
attention.  She  was  certainly  beautiful,  with  the  same 
sort  of  beauty  as  Viola's,  though  Wilbraham  thought 
that  if  he  had  not  known  the  facts  about  her  he  would 
yet  have  detected  an  absence  of  race,  which  seenud  to 
him  to  be  apparent  in  Viola,  and  perhaps  also  in  her 
father.  He  tried  to  find  in  her  support  for  Bastian's 
praise  of  her  character  and  temperament,  but  all  he 
could  have  said  was  that  there  was  nothing  to  show  that 
she  had  not  deserved  it.  She  smiled  sweetly  in  these 
photographs,  some  of  which  were  in  theatrical  costume; 
she  was  young  and  beautiful  and  happy,  and  her 
early  death  added  pathos  to  these  presentments  of 
her. 

There  were  other  photographs  of  girls  and  young 
women  carelessly  propped  up  on  the  mantelpiece,  some 
of  them  hidden.  They  were  probably  mostly  theatrical 
friends  of  Mrs.  Bastian's,  and  it  seemed  likely  that  she 
had  lived  in  these  rooms,  or  they  would  not  have  been 
left  there.  Wilbraham's  eyes  roamed  over  them  without 
interest,  but  just  as  he  was  about  to  turn  away  were 
caught  by  the  signature  of  one  of  them.  "  With  love 
from  Lottie  "  in  a  sprawling  hand.  It  was  of  Mrs. 


242  SIR   HARRY 

Brent,  taken  in  that  youth  of  which  she  was  still  proud 
but  which  she  had  left  behind  her. 

Wilbraham  looked  at  it  fascinated.  For  some  reason 
or  other  Mrs.  Brent  had  never  shown  him  a  photograph 
of  herself  taken  during  her  stage  career.  For  the 
moment  he  was  more  interested  in  seeing  her  as  she  had 
been  than  in  the  fact  of  finding  her  photograph  here — 
Harry's  mother,  in  Viola's  room. 

The  photograph  made  her  almost  as  pretty  as  Mrs. 
Bastian.  She  was  a  gay  light-hearted  girl  too.  Harry's 
father  might  be  excused  for  having  fallen  in  love  with 
her.  And  there  was  a  look  of  Harry  in  her  young  face, 
which  Wilbraham  had  never  noticed  in  the  flesh.  He 
wondered  whether  Viola  had  noticed  the  likeness,  which 
seemed  to  him  quite  plain.  But  probably  she  did  not 
look  at  these  old  photographs  to  notice  anything  about 
them  at  all  once  in  six  months,  though  she  saw  them 
every  day. 

Viola  came  in  as  he  was  standing  looking  at  them.  He 
thought  she  looked  more  beautiful  than  ever,  as  she,- 
greeted  him  with  a  smile  and  a  blush.  Her  entrance  into 
the  room  seemed  to  bring  light  with  it,  and  softness  and 
charm.  Its  commonplace  features  sank  into  the  back- 
ground; the  flowers  became  of  more  importance  than 
anything,  and  the  books  and  the  music. 

Wilbraham  had  seen  Viola  in  a  pretty  simple  frock 
suitable  for  the  country,  but  although  her  clothes  now 
had  the  same  air  of  simplicity  to  his  unsophisticated 
eyes,  they  were  even  to  him  something  exceptional.  One 
would  not  have  expected  a  girl  who  lived  in  that  room 


WILBRAHAM    IN    LONDON       243 

to  enter  it  dressed  as  she  was.  The  calling  in  which  she 
earned  her  living  stood  her  in  good  stead.  Wilbraham 
had  not  been  told  what  it  was,  and  had  the  idea  of  her 
doing  something  or  other  with  a  typewriter.  He 
thought  that  the  figure  she  presented  was  owing  to  her 
taste,  and  did  not  know  that  it  would  also  have  meant 
a  good  deal  of  money  if  there  had  been  nothing  more 
than  her  taste  to  account  for  it.  What  he  did  feel  was 
that  she  might  have  entered  any  rich  room  in  London 
as  she  was  and  been  taken  for  granted  as  belonging  to 
it.  She  was  worthy  of  Harry  even  in  this  respect,  which 
would  probably  weigh  more  with  the  world  even  than  it 
weighed  with  him. 

**  Father  will  be  in  in  about  half  an  hour,"  she  said. 
"You  will  stay  and  have  some  tea  with  us,  won't  you? 
I'm  sure  he  will  be  glad  to  see  you." 

He  had  been  looking  at  her  searchingly.  She  gave 
him  the  impression  of  being  older  than  when  he  had  seen 
her  at  Royd,  a  woman  full  grown  and  no  longer  half  a 
child,  though  the  delicacy  and  freshness  of  youth  still 
marked  her.  She  had,  in  fact,  ceased  to  arrange  her 
hair  as  still  growing  girls  wear  it,  and  there  was  some 
to  him  indefinable  difference  in  her  clothes. 

He  said  he  would  stay  until  her  father  came  in, 
and  she  motioned  him  to  her  father's  chair,  and  sat 
down  in  her  own  on  the  other  side  of  the  fire,  facing 
him. 

She  seemed  to  wait  for  him  to  speak  first.  He  could 
tell  nothing  by  her  manner,  which  was  smiling  and  self- 
possessed,  though  her  self-possession  was  not  more  than 


244  SIR   HARRY 

is  becoming  to  a  young  girl,  secure  in  her  youth  and 
charm. 

"  I  suppose  you  know  that  Harry  has  left  home  to 
enlist  in  the  army,"  he  said. 

Her  colour  deepened  a  little  upon  the  mention  of  her 
lover's  name,  but  she  did  not  shrink  from  his  gaze,  and 
the  faint  smile  was  still  on  her  lips  as  she  said :  "  I 
thought  that  he  might,  although  he  didn't  say  he  would." 
So  of  course  she  knew,  and  had  been  prepared  for  the 
question. 

"  Probably  he  had  not  quite  made  up  his  mind  by  the 
time  you  left  Royd,"  he  said. 

She  did  not  reply  to  this,  and  he  thought  he  could  see 
that  she  had  decided  not  to  admit  anything,  probably 
under  Harry's  directions.  Again  there  came  to  him  the 
sense  of  dislike  at  interfering  with  what  Harry  had 
decided.  He  could  not  fence  with  her  to  make  her  say 
what  Harry  didn't  want  her  to  say,  or  force  her  to  say 
that  she  could  not  answer  his  questions.  She  was  frank 
and  innocent.  It  would  seem  an  impertinence  to  put  her 
into  the  position  of  defending  a  reticence. 

"  We  have  been  very  anxious  about  him  at  home,"  he 
said.  "  We  are  anxious  still — not  to  get  him  to  come 
back,  but  that  he  should  not  cut  himself  off  from  us. 
I've  come  up  to  London  on  purpose  to  get  a  message 
to  him  if  I  can.  I  didn't  tell  Lady  Brent  I  should  come 
here,  or  say  anything  about  you.  She  thinks  I  have 
only  come  to  see  Mr.  Gulliver,  the  family  solicitor,  and 
ask  him  to  find  out,  if  he  can,  where  Harry  is.  His 
mother  can  hardly  bear  the  thought  of  not  hearing  from 
him  for  months,  and  not  knowing  where  he  is.  Lady 


WILBRAHAM    IN    LONDON       245 

Brent  was  not  altogether  unprepared  for  his  enlisting. 
She  couldn't  have  been  a  party  to  it,  as  he's  not  even  of 
an  age  to  enlist  yet,  and  I  suppose  he's  had  to  represent 
himself  as  older  than  he  is  in  order  to  get  taken.  But 
she  told  me  herself  that  she  was  proud  of  him  for  doing 
it,  and  she  certainly  wouldn't  do  anything  to  interfere 
with  him,  now  he's  taken  the  matter  into  his  own  hands. 
If  he  knew  that " 

He  did  not  finish  his  sentence,  which  was  on  the  note 
of  appeal  to  her.  Nor  did  he  look  at  her. 

There  was  a  pause.  Then  she  said,  "  I  haven't  seen 
Harry,  you  know,  Mr.  Wilbraham." 

He  looked  at  her  then,  and  saw  that  there  were  tears 
in  her  eyes.  So  his  appeal  had  not  been  without  its 
effect. 

"  I  think  his  mother  ought  to  know,"  she  said,  "  and 
that  he  ought  to  write  to  her." 

In  a  flash  of  understanding,  he  saw  that  he  had  got 
all  that  he  had  come  for,  and  that  he  would  get  no  more. 
Or  at  least  that  he  must  not  exercise  pressure  to  get 
more,  or  put  her  in  the  position  of  refusing  to  give  it. 
She  would  tell  Harry  what  he  had  told  her,  and  she 
would  tell  him  that  she  thought  he  ought  to  write  to  his 
mother.  Of  Lady  Brent  she  had  said  nothing.  It  was 
probable  that  Lady  Brent  appeared  in  her  eyes  in  a 
different  light  from  that  in  which  Wilbraham  saw 
her. 

As  for  everything  else — it  was  their  secret,  to  be 
treated  by  him  with  respect.  He  would  probe  into  it  no 
further;  and  indeed  it  was  better  that  he  should  not  know 
more  than  he  knew  already  of  how  it  was  between  them. 


24-6  SIR   HARRY 

There  was  quite  enough  on  his  mind  that  he  had  kept 
from  Lady  Brent. 

"  Yes,  I  think  he  should  write,"  he  said.  "  I  shall 
see  Mr.  Gulliver  to-morrow." 

The  two  statements  had  no  apparent  bearing  upon 
one  another,  but  Viola  seemed  to  accept  them  with  relief, 
and  was  beginning  to  talk  to  him  pleasantly,  but  with  no 
reference  to  Harry,  when  Bastian  came  in. 

He  was  nearly  half  an  hour  earlier  than  his  usual 
time,  it  appeared,  and  Wilbraham  was  inclined  to  be 
disappointed  at  having  his  talk  with  Viola  cut  short. 
Whenever  he  was  with  her  he  felt  himself  almost  vio- 
lently in  sympathy  with  Harry  in  his  love  for  her.  He 
was  observing  her  all  the  time,  and  there  was  nothing 
that  she  said  or  did  that  did  not  deepen  his  first  im- 
pression of  her.  He  wanted  to  feel  like  that  about  her, 
for  Harry's  sake;  championship  of  her  as  one  who  was 
in  all  essentials  fit  to  mate  with  him,  might  stand  Harry 
in  good  stead  later  on. 

But  she  would  show  herself,  perhaps  with  less  need  for 
carefulness  in  what  she  said,  with  her  father  there  as 
without  him.  Bastian  gave  him  a  cordial  welcome.  He 
was  again,  in  appearance,  a  gentleman,  merely  indif- 
ferent to  the  shabbiness  of  his  attire,  but  the  younger 
healthier  look  he  had  had  during  the  latter  part  of  his 
stay  at  Royd  no  longer  marked  him.  Wilbraham 
thought  he  had  been  drinking,  but  he  was  not  drunk, 
or  anything  near  it,  and  it  seemed  probable  that  he 
kept  his  habits  in  check  in  the  home  that  he  must  have 
valued.  He  drank  tea,  rather  copiously,  at  the  meal 
which  soon  followed  his  entrance,  and  there  was  no 


WILBRAHAM    IN    LONDON      247 

preparation  apparent  for  anything  stronger  to  be  drunk 
later  on. 

It  was  not  long  before  Wilbraham  became  as  anxious 
to  be  alone  with  Bastian  as  he  had  before  wished  to  be 
alone  with  Viola.  Bastian  knew,  and  Viola  was  dis- 
tressed at  the  signs  he  showed  of  wishing  to  talk  about 
what  he  knew. 

It  became  plain  to  Wilbraham  now  that  the  poor  child 
was  not  unaffected  by  her  father's  intemperance.  If  the 
worst  of  it  was  kept  from  her,  and  he  had  the  self- 
command  not  to  soil  the  home  in  which  she  lived  with 
it,  still  there  were  times  when  she  saw  him  not  quite 
himself. 

This  was  one  of  them.  Wilbraham  saw  the  suspicion 
and  then  the  certainty  dawn  upon  her,  with  a  droop,  and 
a  shadow  on  her  brightness,  and  a  stiffening  of  manner 
that  was  not  quite  displeasure,  but  yet  something  near 
it.  She  had  enough  influence  over  him,  apparently,  to 
be  able  to  prevent  his  saying  what  she  did  not  want  said, 
but  his  hints  and  smiles  made  Wilbraham  as  uncom- 
fortable as  they  evidently  made  her.  Immediately  the 
meal  was  over  she  said  good-bye  to  Wilbraham  and  went 
out  of  the  room.  Perhaps  this  was  her  usual  way  of 
dealing  with  these  lapses.  Her  father  expostulated,  but 
she  took  no  notice,  except  by  saying  as  she  went  out: 
"  I'll  tell  Mrs.  Clark  not  to  clear  away  just  yet." 

"  She's  a  dear  child,  Viola — but  she's  difficult  some- 
times," said  Bastian.  "  I  hope  she  hasn't  taken  a  dislike 
to  you." 

"  I  don't  think  so,"  said  Wilbraham,  shortly.  "  What 
she  obviously  does  dislike  is  having  her  secrets  talked 


248  SIRHARRY 

about  before  a  comparative  stranger.  I  should  have 
thought  you  might  have  seen  that." 

Bastian  threw  a  look  at  him  as  he  went  to  the  side 
table  to  take  up  a  pipe.  Wilbraham's  tone  seemed  to 
surprise  him,  but  it  did  not  subdue  the  agreeable  humour 
in  which  he  found  himself.  "  We  don't  look  on  you  as 
a  stranger,"  he  said,  "  and  if  there's  a  secret,  you're  in 
it.  I  think  you  want  mellowing,  my  dear  Wilbraham. 
I  don't  keep  anything  to  drink  here,  but  if  you'd  like 
something  I  can  send  out  f,or  it." 

"  You  seem  to  forget  what  I  told  you  about  myself," 
said  Wilbraham.  "  I  can't  drink  without  losing  control 
of  myself.  You  seem  to  be  in  much  the  same  case. 
I  think  it's  a  damned  shame  to  show  it  before  that 
child." 

This  brought  Bastian  up  short.  He  frowned  in  of- 
fence, but  apparently  he  was  one  of  those  people  whom 
a  rebuke  moves  more  to  sorrow  than  to  anger,  for  he 
said:  "  That's  a  hard  thing  to  say  to  a  man,  Wilbraham. 
I  do  drink  more  than's  good  for  me  sometimes,  I  know ; 
but  if  there's  one  thing  I've  always  been  careful  about  all 
my  life  it  is  not  to  let  it  affect  Viola." 

"  Well,  it  does  affect  her,"  said  Wilbraham.  "  You'd 
have  seen  how  it  affected  her  just  now,  if  you  hadn't 
been  drinking.  It's  not  for  me  to  preach,  God  knows. 
But  if  you're  able  to  control  it  at  all,  you've  got  some- 
thing to  be  very  thankful  for,  and  you  ought  to  control 
it  absolutely  as  far  as  she's  concerned." 

"  I've  had  very  little  to  drink  to-day,  as  a  matter  of 
fact,"  said  Bastian,  rather  sulkily,  "  and  I  don't  want  to 
be  lectured  about  it,  Wilbraham.  Sit  down  and  have  a 


WILBRAHAM    IN    LONDON       249 

talk.  You  won't  find  my  powers  of  expression  affected 
by  the  little  I  have  had." 

He  ended  on  a  smile.  He  was  an  attractive  creature, 
Wilbraham  thought,  in  spite  of  his  culpable  weakness. 
Most  men  would  have  quarrelled  with  him  for  what  he 
had  said,  if  they  had  been  in  Bastian's  state.  But  the 
extent  to  which  he  was  affected  by  drink  was  a  puzzle. 
As  he  talked  Wilbraham  could  mark  no  signs  of  it, 
though  they  had  seemed  so  evident  up  to  this  time. 
There  was  an  absence  of  cautiousness  in  what  he  said, 
but  that  was  native  to  him.  It  may  have  been  slightly 
enhanced  now,  but  Wilbraham  would  not  have  put  it 
down  to  the  loosening  of  tongue  brought  about  by 
liquor  if  they  had  started  with  this  conversation.  His 
own  irritation  subsided.  He  had  said  his  say.  He  sat 
down  in  Viola's  chair,  opposite  to  Bastian,  and  lit  his 
cigarette,  taking  rather  a  long  time  to  do  so,  in  order 
to  leave  the  opening  with  Bastian,  who  was  not  slow  to 
take  it. 

"  It  wouldn't  do  for  my  little  failing  to  become  known, 
would  it?  "  he  said  with  a  smile.  "  If  I  can't  do  without 
alcohol  altogether — and  I  don't  see  why  I  should— I 
shall  have  to  keep  in  the  background." 

Wilbraham  was  conscious  of  a  return  of  irritation. 
He  disliked  this  half- jocular  allusion  to  a  subject  of 
such  serious  importance.  "  Oh,  don't  talk  of  it  like 
that,"  he  said,  impatiently.  "  I  suppose  you  know  that 
Harry  Brent  and  Viola  have  met  and  have  fallen  in  love 
with  one  another.  Nobody  else  knows  it  but  me,  and 
perhaps  it's  important  that  nobody  else  should.  At  any 
rate  you  can  talk  quite  straight  about  it  to  me." 


250  SIR   HARRY 

Bastian  received  this  with  a  change  of  manner.  "  All 
right,"  he  said,  "  I  will  talk  straight.  Viola's  a  girl  in 
a  thousand — in  a  million.  I'd  trust  her  anywhere.  But 
for  a  young  man  to  be  meeting  her  again  and  again,  and 
keeping  it  secret — !  Well,  you  see  my  point,  I  sup- 
pose." 

It  was  quite  a  new  point  to  Wilbraham,  as  far  as  he 
did  see  it.  But  his  brain,  edged  by  his  long  struggle 
with  himself,  and  now  again  working  with  its  normal 
quickness,  seized  upon  its  essential  insincerity  at  once. 
There  was  a  barely  perceptible  pause  before  he  said :  "  If 
you  mean  that  Harry  has  done  anything  that  you  can 
take  exception  to  why  have  you  been  smiling  and  hinting 
about  it  up  till  now?  " 

Perhaps  Bastian  did  not  quite  take  this  in.  "  Oh,  I 
don't  mean  to  say  that  there  has  been  anything  wrong," 
he  said.  "  As  I  say,  I  trust  Viola — absolutely.  If 
she's  satisfied  with  herself,  as  she  is,  that's  enough  for 
me." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Wilbraham,  keeping  command. 
"  Then  that  applies  to  Harry  too.  You  don't  know  him. 
I  do.  I  found  it  out  by  chance,  and  he  made  no  attempt 
to  persuade  me  to  keep  it  secret.  He  left  it  to  me,  and 
I  decided  to  do  so.  If  he  wanted  it  kept  secret,  so  did 
she ;  and  they  both  wanted  it  for  the  same  reasons,  what- 
ever they  were.  If  she  was  right,  he  was  right,  and — 

"  Yes,  that's  all  very  well ,"  said  Bastian,  but 

Wilbraham  over-rode  his  interruption.  "  I  suppose  you 
didn't  know  of  it  till  after  you'd  come  to  London.  How 
did  you  know  of  it?  " 

Bastian  allowed  himself  to  be  diverted.     "  I  found  it 


WILBRAHAM    IN    LONDON       251 

out  on  the  last  night,"  he  said.  "  I  went  out  to  look 
for  her,  and  she  came  in  crying,  poor  child!  Some- 
thing suddenly  struck  me.  She  had  been  out  such  a  lot 
alone,  and  she  hadn't  done  that  before  when  we'd  been 
away  together — at  least  not  so  much.  And  she'd  been 
different  somehow.  I  hadn't  thought  about  it  before, 
but  it  came  to  me  suddenly  all  together.  And  she 
wouldn't  have  been  crying  like  that  just  because  we  were 
going  home.  There  was  something — somebody.  I  dare 
say  I  should  have  got  at  it  by  thinking  it  over ;  but  she 
told  me.  I  love  her,  and  she  loves  me,  and  knows  that 
she  can  tell  me  anything.  That's  how  it  was,  Wil- 
braham.  You're  not  a  father,  but  you  can  imagine, 
perhaps,  what  a  father  feels  about  these  things, 
when  his  daughter  is  the  chief  thing  in  the  world  to 
him." 

"  I  suppose  I  can,"  said  Wilbraham.  "  But  all  the 
same  you're  not  treating  her  in  the  way  you  boast  of 
if  you're  not  prepared  to  look  upon  Harry  in  the  same 
light.  You'll  agree  that  on  the  outside  of  things  they're 
not  equal — those  two." 

"  I  don't  agree  to  that,"  said  Bastian,  dogmatically. 

"  I  said  on  the  outside  of  things,"  Wilbraham  per- 
sisted. "  You've  been  where  he  belongs,  and  you  know 
what  sort  of  position  he's  in.  You  may  have  belonged  to 
the  same  sort  of  thing  once.  I  don't  know.  You've 
never  told  me  who  your  people  were.  But  you  say  your- 
self that  you've  come  down  in  the  world,  and  it's  pretty 
obvious  that  you're  not  in  anything  like  the  position  the 
Brents  are  now.  So  you  can  see  how  it  would  have  been 
likely  to  strike  me  when  I  first  found  it  out.  But  Harry 


252  SIRHARRY 

is  what  he  is.  I  trusted  him,  just  as  you  trusted  Viola. 
And  afterwards  I  saw  Viola.  If  I  can  think  of  her  as 
I  do,  you  ought  to  be  able  to  think  of  Harry  in  the  same 
way,  though  you  haven't  seen  him." 

"  Very  well,  then,"  said  Bastian.  "  Let's  take  it  that, 
leaving  out  things  that  don't  matter,  they're  to  be  looked 
at  in  the  same  way.  Of  course  I  know,  really,  that  he's 
something  quite  out  of  the  common.  I've  heard  the 
people  there  talk  about  him.  If  I  hadn't  thought  there 
was  no  harm  in  it — for  Viola — I  shouldn't  have  treated 
it  as  I  have.  But  you  see,  Wilbraham,  as  a  father  I've 
got  to  look  a  little  farther  ahead  than  you  do.  I  sup- 
pose to  you  it's  just  a  boy  and  girl  falling  in  love  with 
one  another  in  all  their  innocence,  and  if  nothing  comes 
of  it  no  harm  will  be  done.  Well,  it  wouldn't  to  him. 
But  it's  rather  different  with  her,  isn't  it  ?  " 

Wilbraham  was  silent.  That  was  exactly  as  he  had 
looked  at  it,  on  Harry's  behalf.  And  it  would  be  dif- 
ferent for  Viola. 

"  If  he's  what  you  say  he  is,"  said  Bastian,  pursuing 
his  advantage,  "  he  won't  want  to  throw  her  off  when  he 
gets  older.  But  his  people  will  want  him  to,  and  when 
they  know  they'll  try  to  bring  it  about.  Harry  and 
Viola !  Yes.  But  it's  me  and  Lady  Brent,  you  see,  as 
well — as  she  seems  to  be  the  one  that  counts  most.  I 
don't  know  anything  about  the  boy's  mother ;  they  don't 
talk  about  her  much  down  there.  It's  his  grandmother 
who  seems  to  count  for  everything.  Who  was  his 
mother,  by  the  by  ?  " 

Wilbraham  had  forgotten  until  that  moment  the 
photograph  on  the  mantelpiece.  He  awoke  to  its  reali- 


WILBRAHAM    IN    LONDON       253 

zaticn  with  a  mental  start.  If  Bastian  had  not  shown 
himself  ignorant  of  Mrs.  Brent's  origin  he  might  have 
succumbed  to  the  instinct  for  the  dramatic  and  surprised 
him  by  pointing  her  out  in  reply  to  his  question.  But 
when  the  question  came  he  had  just  received  the  impres- 
sion of  loyalty  on  the  part  of  Mrs.  Ivimey,  or  anybody 
else  to  whom  Bastian  may  have  talked  about  "  the 
family."  They  had  not  given  Mrs.  Brent  away.  He 
wouldn't  either,  at  least  at  this  stage. 

"  Nobody  in  particular,"  he  said  with  a  half  truth. 
"  They  were  only  married  for  a  few  weeks.  Lady  Brent 
is  Harry's  guardian,  and  of  course  she's  had  most  to  do 
with  bringing  him  up  more  or  less  in  seclusion  at  Royd. 
I  suppose  you  know  that  he  has  gone  off  to  enlist." 

"  Yes,  and  I  suppose  you've  come  here  to  find  out 
from  Viola  where  he  is,  and  haul  him  back  again." 

Wilbraham  told  him  why  he  had  come  up.  "  I  shall 
go  and  see  Gulliver  to-morrow,"  he  said,  "  and  get  him 
to  make  inquiries.  Then  I  hope  in  a  few  days  Harry 
will  write.  She'll  be  satisfied  with  that,  and  whether 
Gulliver  finds  him  or  not  she  won't  make  any  attempt  to 
get  him  back." 

"  Well,  you're  a  funny  crew  altogether,"  said  Bastian, 
after  they  had  talked  a  little  longer.  "  As  far  as  I'm 
concerned,  Wilbraham,  I'm  going  to  keep  my  eyes  open. 
You  needn't  look  to  me  to  back  up  your  ideas,  if  it 
doesn't  suit  me  to  do  so.  Better  have  all  your  cards 
on  the  table.  They're  both  much  too  young  yet  to  think 
about  anything  further,  and  I  suppose  he'll  be  too  young 
for  another  few  years.  You  can  hug  your  secret  for  the 
present." 


CHAPTER   XX 

WAITING 

AUTUMN  gave  place  to  winter  and  winter  to  spring. 
Another  summer  came,  and  people  began  to  resign  them- 
selves to  the  hitherto  almost  incredible  idea  of  the  war 
lasting  over  another  winter.  That  winter  passed  away 
and  the  interminable  struggle  went  on. 

But  even  after  two  years  the  texture  of  life  had  not 
very  greatly  altered  in  England.  Conscription  had  not 
yet  come  in ;  there  was  no  food  control ;  motor  cars 
could  be  used  for  purposes  of  pleasure  or  convenience ; 
the  chief  opportunities  for  the  work  of  women  in  con- 
nection with  the  war  were  in  nursing,  and  for  girls  in 
government  clerkships.  It  was  not  for  another  full  year 
that  country  life  in  England  seemed  quite  a  different 
thing  from  what  it  had  been  before  the  war.  The  change 
had  come  by  degrees  and  its  last  stages  were  passed 
through  much  more  quickly  than  the  first.  In  the 
summer  of  1916  it  was  still  possible  to  live  in  a  country 
house  without  being  much  affected  by  the  war. 

Lady  Brent  lived  on  at  Royd  Castle  to  all  outward 
appearances  in  much  the  same  way  as  she  had  lived 
there  since  her  widowhood.  There  came  to  be  fewer 
servants,  and  her  work  in  connection  with  the  estate 
increased,  for  her  bailiff  had  joined  up,  and  she  had  not 

254 


WAITING  255 

tried  to  replace  him.  She  did  much  of  his  work  herself, 
with  the  help  of  the  estate  staff,  and  perhaps  welcomed 
the  increased  responsibility,  for  her  life  during  those  two 
first  years  was  sad  enough,  with  all  that  she  had  lived 
for  taken  from  her  just  at  the  time  when  the  hopes  of 
years  were  to  have  been  put  to  the  test. 

Harry  had  written  to  his  mother  within  a  few  days 
of  Wilbraham's  return  from  London,  and  again  from 
time  to  time  to  her  and  to  his  grandmother  and  to 
Wilbraham ;  also  to  the  children.  But  his  letters  con- 
tained very  little  news  about  himself.  They  were  posted 
in  London  and  gave  no  address  to  which  answers  could 
be  sent.  After  some  months  there  was  a  long  silence, 
and  then  he  wrote  from  Egypt,  where  his  regiment  had 
been  sent.  After  that  he  wrote  mostly  to  his  mother. 
He  told  her  more  about  his  life,  but  never  anything  that 
would  identify  him. 

The  letters  sent  from  Egypt  were  subject  to  censor- 
ship, but  they  arrived  at  Royd  in  envelopes  bearing  a 
London  postmark  and  with  no  label  or  stamp  on  them. 
Yet  they  were  addressed  in  Harry's  writing.  He  must 
have  left  a  supply  of  them  behind  him. 

The  clue  to  all  this  was  no  doubt  a  strong  and  con- 
sidered determination  to  carry  out  his  plan  without  risk 
of  interference.  The  message  carried  to  him  by  Viola 
had  brought  letters  from  him,  but  that  was  as  far  as 
he  would  go ;  and  perhaps  he  would  have  written  in  any 
case.  After  the  first  one  had  been  received  Lady  Brent 
wrote  to  Mr.  Gulliver  and  told  him  not  to  pursue  his 
inquiries.  Harry  must  have  his  own  way.  As  he  had 


256  SIR    HARRY 

written,  after  it  had  seemed  that  he  had  made  up  his 
mind  not  even  to  do  that,  so  perhaps  he  would  some  day 
relent  and  let  them  write  to  him.  But  nearly  two  years 
went  by  and  he  had  not  done  so. 

In  the  long  sad  conversations  they  had  about  him  at 
Royd  during  the  early  months,  they  arrived  at  some  sort 
of  conclusions,  helped  by  an  occasional  expression  in  his 
letters.  He  had  gone  out  of  his  own  world,  and  as  long 
as  his  time  of  probation  lasted  he  would  keep  out  of  it. 
He  was  not  likely  to  think  himself  degraded  by  serving 
in  the  ranks,  but  they  came  to  understand  that  he  was 
keeping  his  actual  condition  hidden.  There  was  nothing 
in  his  letters,  which  would  be  read  by  his  superior  of- 
ficers, to  indicate  it,  and  before  he  left  England  they 
were  more  about  Royd  than  about  himself.  There  was 
never  very  much  about  himself.  Every  time  he  wrote  he 
said  he  was  well  and  happy ;  but  it  peeped  through  that 
the  change  in  his  life  was  not  without  its  effect  upon 
him.  How  could  it  be  otherwise,  brought  up  as  he  had 
been?  He  was  learning  in  a  hard  school;  but  he  was 
learning,  and  flashes  of  his  old  boyish  brightness  broke 
through  the  reticence  which  he  seemed  to  have  imposed 
upon  himself.  They  came  to  look  upon  it  as  a  time  of 
probation  for  him,  and  to  believe  that  so  he  looked  upon 
it  himself.  Sometimes  they  thought  they  saw  signs  of 
expectation.  He  was  working  for  and  looking  forward 
to  something.  Viola,  said  Wilbraham  to  himself.  His 
commission  to  be  won  in  the  field,  said  Lady  Brent.  He 
wanted  no  help  towards  it,  as  might  have  been  given 
by  finding  him  out,  which  should  not  have  been  difficult 


WAITING  257 

after  he  had  left  England,  and  pulling  strings.  When  he 
had  gained  his  commission,  by  his  own  unaided  effort, 
and  by  no  reliance  upon  his  place  in  the  world  outside 
the  army,  then  he  would  come  back  to  them.  It  was 
hard  on  Lady  Brent  to  wait,  and  to  lift  no  finger,  and 
harder  still  on  his  mother.  But  he  must  be  trusted. 
They  had  directed  him  through  his  childhood,  and  youth, 
and  now  he  would  brook  no  direction.  The  only  consola- 
tion they  had  was  that  his  upbringing  had  not  taken 
from  him  a  man's  initiative  and  determination.  The 
experiment  seemed  to  have  been  justified;  but  with  a 
greater  knowledge  of  the  world  beforehand  he  might  not 
have  thought  it  necessary  so  to  cut  his  life  in  two. 
They  were  paying  a  heavy  price. 

Wilbraham,  who  had  more  of  a  clue  to  Harry's 
actions  than  the  others,  was  not  without  irritation 
against  what  at  times  he  set  down  as  mere  hard  unduti- 
fulness.  He  had  great  sympathy  with  Lady  Brent,  who 
had  so  wonderfully  sunk  her  own  feelings  in  acquiescing 
in  the  boy's  unreasonable  determination.  She  could 
almost  certainly  have  traced  him  had  she  wished  to  do 
so.  And  Wilbraham,  at  least,  knew  that  he  must  have 
been  told  at  the  very  beginning  that  he  would  not  be 
interfered  with.  Why  could  he  not  then  have  softened 
the  hardship  to  those  who  loved  him?  Granted  that 
the  new  love  that  had  come  into  his  life  was  so  much 
more  to  him  than  the  old ;  but  it  was  not  like  him  to 
throw  over  the  old  altogether,  and  indeed  his  letters 
showed  that  he  had  not  done  so. 

After  a  time  his  irritation  died  away.     It  could  not 


258  SIRHARRY 

be  so  distressing  to  Harry  to  be  cut  off  from  Royd  as  it 
was  to  them  to  be  cut  off  from  him,  but  his  letters  showed 
that  he  felt  it,  and  especially  the  few  letters  that  he 
wrote  to  little  Jane,  in  which  he  seemed  to  be  reaching 
out  after  the  untroubled  innocent  happiness  of  his 
youth,  and  the  beauty  and  freedom  that  had  lain  all 
about  it.  It  was  the  old  Harry  that  appeared  in  those 
letters,  and  here  and  there  in  others ;  the  new  Harry 
became  more  and  more  evident  otherwise — a  man  doing 
a  man's  hard  work  in  hard  and  uncongenial  surround- 
ings, much  older  than  his  years,  where  in  some  ways  he 
had  been  so  much  younger. 

He  was  hard  on  himself  as  well  as  hard  upon  them. 
They  had  given  him  happiness  in  his  sheltered  youth, 
but  the  plunge  he  had  taken  into  a  life  different  from 
any  that  could  have  been  anticipated  for  him  can  have 
been  none  the  easier  on  that  account.  The  ugliness  and 
crudity  that  other  boys  might  in  some  measure  have 
been  prepared  for  would  bear  very  hardly  upon  him, 
and  he  would  have  to  fight  through  it  alone.  Wil- 
braham  came  to  see  that  he  might  shrink  from  mixing 
it  up  with  his  home  life.  Perhaps  he  was  afraid  that 
he  might  weaken  in  it  if  he  was  subject  to  any  pressure. 
It  would  surely  have  been  open  to  him  to  have  had  at 
least  a  few  days  at  home  before  he  went  abroad;  but 
he  had  not  taken  the  opportunity. 

Had  he  blamed  them  for  bringing  him  up  in  that 
seclusion?  There  was  nothing  in  his  letters  to  show  it. 
But  it  must  have  been  very  soon  revealed  to  him  how 
exceptional  his  life  had  been,  and  how  much  he  had 


WAITING  259 

missed  of  what  other  boys  had  had.  He  would  not 
always  be  capable  of  gauging  the  value  of  what  he  had 
missed,  when  face  to  face  with  some  situation  with  which 
his  inexperience  had  unfitted  him  to  cope  lightly.  It 
might  take  him  a  long  time  to  acknowledge  that  what 
he  had  gained  had  been  more  than  what  he  had  missed, 
and  partly  arose  from  it.  He  would  know,  too,  before 
long  that  the  immovable  seclusion  in  which  his  grand- 
mother and  mother  and  Wilbraham  himself  lived  was 
anything  but  the  normal  state  of  affairs  that  it  had  been 
implicitly  represented  to  him.  He  would  ask  himself 
why  they  had  never  left  Royd  from  one  year's  end  to 
another,  and  why  so  few  people  had  ever  come  there; 
and  he  would  see  that  it  had  all  been  with  reference  to 
him.  He  would  hardly  be  able  to  understand  it.  If 
he  acknowledged  the  freedom  he  had  enjoyed,  the  limits 
of  it  would  still  strike  him,  with  his  new  knowledge  of 
the  world's  ways.  If  he  had  not,  since  his  childhood, 
been  dominated  by  women,  he  had  certainly  been  man- 
aged, without  knowing  it.  Whether,  in  the  strange- 
ness and  disagreeableness  and  difficulty  of  much  of  his 
new  life  he  was  inclined  to  resent  this  unduly,  or  whether 
he  saw  behind  it  enough  to  admit  that  there  had  been 
wisdom  as  well  as  apparent  eccentricity,  and  certainly 
love,  in  the  steps  his  youth  had  been  made  to  tread,  it 
would  not  be  surprising  if  he  made  up  his  mind  at  an 
early  date  that  the  managing  should  come  to  an  end. 
It  was  for  him  to  direct  his  own  life  now.  He  would  run 
no  further  risk  of  influence  brought  to  bear  upon  it,  the 
clue  to  which  was  not  in  his  hands. 


260  SIR   HARRY 

In  the  first  spring  Wilbraham  left  Royd  to  take  up 
work  in  a  Government  office  in  London,  for  which  Lady 
Brent  had  asked  for  him.  A  few  months  later  Mrs. 
Brent  broke  loose  from  the  now  insupportable  stagna- 
tion of  Royd,  and  went  to  London  with  the  avowed 
object  of  nursing.  She  had  had  no  training  and  was 
quite  ignorant  of  the  steps  to  be  taken,  but  Lady  Brent 
arranged  an  income  for  her,  and  made  no  attempt  to 
direct  her  movements  in  any  way.  She  was  left  alone 
in  the  Castle,  and  stayed  there  alone  for  another  year. 
To  all  outward  appearance  she  was  exactly  what  she 
had  always  been,  always  occupied,  always  unemotional, 
though  sometimes  more  unapproachable  than  at  others. 
The  months  dragged  on. 


CHAPTER   XXI 

SIDNEY 

ONE  morning  in  May  Lady  Brent  unlocked  the  letter 
bag,  which  she  never  did  without  anticipations  of  some 
news  of  Harry.  It  was  at  least  a  month  since  there 
had  been  a  letter  from  him,  but  there  at  last  it  was, 
searched  for  among  all  the  rest  and  making  them  of  no 
value  at  all. 

It  was  directed  to  Mrs.  Brent,  and  the  envelope  bore 
the  stamps  and  marks  of  the  field  from  which  it  had 
been  written.  All  Harry's  previous  letters  had  been 
redirected  from  London. 

She  sat  looking  at  it  and  turning  it  over.  Once  or 
twice  she  seemed  to  be  on  the  point  of  opening  it,  and 
she  must  have  been  under  the  strongest  temptation  to  do 
so.  What  could  it  mean  but  that  he  had  reached  his 
goal,  and  the  long  time  of  half  estrangement  was  over? 
A  erhaps  it  was  to  say  that  he  was  coming  home. 

She  laid  it  down,  and  took  up  her  other  letters  with 
a  sigh,  but  before  she  opened  any  of  them,  she  went  to 
her  writing-table  and  enclosed  it  in  a  note  to  Mrs.  Brent. 
Then  she  rang  the  bell  and  gave  orders  that  some  one 
was  to  ride  over  to  Burport  with  it,  and  arrange  for  its 
immediate  transmission  to  London  by  train.  By  that 
means  she  might  get  the  telegram  she  had  asked  for  from 
her  daughter-in-law  that  evening.  Then  she  went  calmly 
about  her  duties. 

261 


262  SIRHARRY 

These  included  one  that  was  quite  unusual  at  Royd 
Castle.  It  was  to  see  that  preparations  were  made  for 
visitors.  Her  old  friend  Lady  Avalon  had  written  to 
ask  if  she  might  come  for  a  few  days.  After  twelve  01 
thirteen  years  Poldaven  Castle  was  to  be  occupied 
again  for  the  summer.  Lady  Avalon  wanted  to  see  what 
was  necessary  to  be  done  there,  but  it  had  been  empty 
so  long  that  she  didn't  want  to  trust  herself  in  it  for 
a  night  if  Lady  Brent  could  do  with  her  at  Royd  and 
let  her  go  over  from  there.  . 

Later  on  that  morning  she  went  again  to  her  writing- 
table  and  wrote  to  Lady  Avalon,  who  was  expected  in  a 
couple  of  days'  time.  Would  she  care  to  bring  her 
daughter  Sidney  with  her?  It  was  no  doubt  very  dull 
at  Royd,  but  there  was  just  a  chance  of  Harry  coming 
home  from  Egypt.  She  sat  considering  for  a  moment 
when  she  had  written  this,  but  closed  her  letter  without 
adding  any  more.  Harry  was  extremely  unlikely  to  be 
at  Royd  in  a  few  days'  time,  but  if  Sidney  had  already 
been  there  when  he  did  come  home  it  would  be  easier  to 
ask  her  there  again. 

After  this  she  went  down  to  the  village,  taking  Ben, 
Harry's  retriever,  with  her. 

She  called  at  the  Vicarage.  The  Grants  were  to  be 
asked  to  dine  when  Lady  Avalon  came.  The  maid  who 
opened  the  door  looked  at  her  rather  curiously,  but  she 
did  not  notice  it.  Mrs.  Grant  was  in  the  drawing-room 
and  sprang  up  to  meet  her.  "  Oh,  I'm  so  glad !  "  she 
said,  and  came  forward,  her  hand  held  out  and  her  face 
all  alight  with  pleasure. 

Lady  Brent  was  taken  aback  by  the  warmth  of  the 


SIDNEY  263 

greeting.  She  liked  Mrs.  Grant  and  supposed  that  Mrs. 
Grant  liked  her,  but  she  was  not  accustomed  to  this  kind 
of  welcome. 

"  Thank  you,"  she  said,  a  shade  drily.  "  I  came  to 
ask  if  you  and  your  husband  would  dine  with  me  on 
Thursday.  Lady  Avalon  will  be  staying  with  me,  and 
possibly  her  daughter,  Lady  Sidney  Pawle." 

"  Oh,  thank  you,  yes,  we  shall  be  very  pleased,"  said 
Mrs.  Grant.  "Will  Harry  be  home  by  then?  He 
might,  mightn't  he?  Oh,  I  am  so  glad  he's  coming  at 
last." 

Lady  Brent  understood  now,  but  it  took  her  a  little 
time  to  recover  herself.  "  He  has  written  to  Jane,  I 
suppose,"  she  said,  speaking  in  as  natural  a  tone  as 
possible.  "  There  was  a  letter  from  him  this  morning, 
but  it  was  to  his  mother,  and  I  was  not  expecting  to 
get  the  news  in  it  until  this  evening." 

"  Oh,  I'll  go  and  get  the  letter  at  once,"  said  Mrs. 
Grant,  and  ran  out  of  the  room,  leaving  Lady  Brent 
alone.  She  sat  quite  still,  and  the  colour  that  had  left 
her  face  returned  to  it  again.  When  Mrs.  Grant  came 
back,  accompanied  by  Jane,  with  the  precious  letter  in 
her  hand,  she  had  quite  recovered  herself. 

Jane  was  rather  a  favourite  of  Lady  Brent's.  She 
was  not  in  the  least  afraid  of  her,  as  her  elders  were 
apt  to  be,  and  talked  to  her  about  Harry  in  a  way  that 
nobody  else  did.  She  was  often  invited  to  the  Castle  by 
herself,  and  was  always  ready  to  go,  though  it  might 
have  been  thought  that  her  inclinations  towards  bodily 
activity  would  have  made  it  a  doubtful  pleasure  to  have 
to  sit  and  talk  to  an  elderly  woman.  Probably  she  was 


264  SIRHARRY 

the  only  person  in  the  world  of  whom  Lady  Brent  would 
not  feel  jealous  because  she  had  received  this  news  first. 

"  I  thought  I'd  like  to  bring  you  the  letter  myself," 
said  Jane,  and  stood  by  her  side  as  she  read  it. 

Jane  was  fourteen  now.  Probably  no  two  years  in 
her  life  could  bring  as  great  a  change  as  the  last  two 
had  brought  to  her.  She  had  grown  tall  for  her  age, 
but  was  still  slim  and  very  upright.  There  was  a  good 
deal  of  the  child  in  her  still,  and  even  a  little  of  the  boy, 
for  her  figure  was  not  so  rounded  as  with  most  girls  of 
her  age,  and  her  taste  for  boyish  activities  was  still 
strong.  But  there  was  more  of  the  budding  woman. 
She  was  gentler  in  speech  and  manner  than  of  old,  and 
her  face,  if  not  yet  her  figure,  was  wholly  feminine.  Her 
early  promise  of  beauty  was  in  course  of  being  fulfilled. 
She  was  very  pretty,  with  her  fair  hair  and  wide  grey 
eyes,  and  it  was  no  longer  an  effort  to  make  her  tidy 
in  her  dress.  Her  skirts  were  well  below  her  knees,  and 
in  her  more  active  moments  she  took  some  pains  to  keep 
them  there. 

"  My  dear  Jane, 

"  I  shall  be  home  almost  as  soon  as  you  get  this.  I 
suppose  you  know  I've  been  serving  as  a  trooper  all  this 
time,  but  now  I've  got  a  commission.  I  shall  be  in 
London  for  a  day  or  two  to  get  my  kit,  and  then  I  shall 
come  down  to  Royd  with  a  month's  leave  in  front  of 
me.  Hurrah !  You  and  I  and  Pobbles  will  have  lots  of 
fun  together.  I  hope  you've  kept  the  cabin  in  good 

repair. 

"  Love  from 

"  HAERY." 


SIDNEY  265 

Lady  Brent  took  a  long  time  to  read  it,  while  Jane 
stood  and  looked  at  her.  When  she  looked  up  at  last, 
Jane  said :  "  I  wish  I'd  known  that  his  other  letter  hadn't 
been  written  to  you.  I  would  have  brought  this  up  at 
once." 

"  Thank  you,  dear,"  said  Lady  Brent.  "  Of  course 
he  doesn't  know  that  his  mother  is  not  at  Royd.  He 
would  have  thought  that  we  should  all  get  the  news  at 
the  same  time.  Perhaps  he  will  have  told  her  more  exact 
dates,  if  he  knows  them.  At  any  rate  it  cannot  be  long 
now  before  we  see  him  again." 

She  was  completely  herself  now,  and  no  one  who  had 
not  known  her  would  have  guessed  that  the  news  she  had 
received  meant  very  much  to  her.  She  rose  almost  im- 
mediately and  took  her  leave.  She  kissed  Jane  as  she 
said  good-bye,  which  was  an  unusual  attention,  and 
perhaps  meant  that  she  bore  her  no  grudge  for  having 
received  the  news  first. 

"  I  think  it's  rather  horrid  of  Mrs.  Brent  to  be  away," 
said  Jane,  when  she  had  gone.  "  Of  course  he  would 
expect  to  find  her  waiting  here  for  him." 

Mrs.  Grant  was  sometimes  puzzled  in  her  dealings 
with  this  growing  daughter  of  hers.  She  was  becoming 
more  of  a  companion  to  her,  and  now  Pebbles  had  gone 
to  school  could  be  treated  less  as  a  child.  But  it  was 
not  always  easy  to  decide  how  far  she  should  be  let  into 
the  confidences  of  her  elders.  She  seemed  to  have  ac- 
quired a  prejudice  against  Mrs.  Brent,  which  had 
hitherto  been  treated  as  something  not  to  be  encouraged. 

"  It  has  made  it  difficult  not  to  be  able  to  tell  Harry 
anything  of  what  has  happened  here,"  Mrs.  Grant  said. 


266  SIR   HARRY 

"  She  went  away  to  try  to  get  some  nursing,  and " 

"  A  fat  lot  of  nursing  she's  done !  "  interrupted  Jane. 
"  I  don't  believe  she's  tried  at  all.  She's  just  enjoying 
herself  in  London.  I  don't  suppose  Lady  Brent  cares 
for  her  much,  but  it's  rather  hard  lines  to  leave  her  all 
by  herself." 

Mrs.  Grant  was  much  of  the  same  opinion,  since  Mrs. 
Brent  had  taken  no  steps,  as  far  as  was  known,  to 
embark  upon  the  nursing  career  which  she  had  an- 
nounced as  her  intention ;  but  she  was  not  quite  ready 
to  agree  with  Jane's  criticism  of  her.  "  It  isn't  only 
she  that  has  left  Lady  Brent,"  she  said. 

"  Mr.  Wilbraham  is  doing  some  work,"  said  Jane, 
"  and  Harry  had  to  go.  If  he  hadn't  gone  when  he 
did,  he  would  have  gone  by  this  time." 

"  I  don't  want  to  criticize  him,"  said  her  mother. 
"  It  will  be  all  over  now,  but  I  think  it  has  been  hard 
lines,  as  you  say,  on  Lady  Brent  that  she  hasn't  been 
able  to  write  to  him." 

"  She  understands  that,"  said  Jane.  "  We've  talked 
about  it." 

Mrs.  Grant  knew  that  Lady  Brent  had,  surprisingly, 
made  something  of  a  confidante  of  Jane.  She  was 
pleased  that  it  was  so,  but  did  not  like  to  ask  questions 
about  her  confidences. 

Jane,  however,  seemed  ready  to  give  them.  "  We 
think,"  she  said,  "  that  until  he  was  made  an  officer  he 
wouldn't  want  anybody  to  know  that  he  was  Sir  Ha.-ry 
Brent,  or  different  from  any  other  soldier.  It  would 
'  make  it  difficult  if  he  had  letters  from  home.  She's 
proud  of  him  for  it.  So  am  I." 


SIDNEY  267 

Mrs.  Grant  was  touched  by  the  "  we."  Evidently 
Jane  was  of  some  comfort  to  the  lonely  self-contained 
lady,  if  they  discussed  matters  in  that  way.  She  kissed 
her.  "  I  expect  it's  something  like  that,  darling,"  she 
said.  "Anyhow,  it's  all  over  now,  and  he'll  be  just 
like  any  other  young  man.  You  must  go  back  to  lessons 
now." 

"  I  don't  think  he's  like  other  young  men,"  said  Jane, 
as  she  reluctantly  prepared  to  leave.  "  I  think  it's  much 
finer  to  go  through  all  the  hardships.  It's  like  pioneer- 
ing. I  expect  what  we  used  to  talk  about  in  the  log 
cabin  had  something  to  do  with  it." 

"  Did  you  tell  Lady  Brent  about  that,  darling?  " 

"  Oh,  yes.  And  she  quite  agreed  with  me.  Lady 
Brent  understands  things.  I  think  Mrs.  Brent  is  a 
rotter.  Good-bye,  mother  dear." 

Mrs.  Brent's  telegram  came  that  evening,  and  she 
herself  the  next  day.  According  to  his  letter,  Harry 
might  be  in  England  almost  as  soon  as  it  reached  her. 
He  would  come  down  to  Royd  as  soon  as  possible,  but 
he  must  be  in  London  for  a  few  days  to  get  his  kit.  He 
would  wire  from  there.  But  he  did  not  tell  her  where 
she  could  communicate  with  him. 

She  was  all  on  edge,  and  Lady  Brent  must  have  exer- 
cised the  strongest  control  over  herself  to  act  with  her 
accustomed  calmness  and  suavity.  Suavity  had  not 
always  been  the  note  of  her  intercourse  with  her  daugh- 
ter-in-law, but  it  was  clear  that  this  was  not  the  time 
when  friction  between  them  could  be  allowed  to  appear. 
If  she  did  not  exercise  restraint  it  was  quite  certain  that 
Mrs.  Brent  wouldn't.  She  seemed  to  be  anxious  to  show 


268  SIRHARRY 

that  she  had  thrown  off  anything  like  submission.  She 
was  noticeably  less  well-mannered  than  she  had  been, 
though  she  bore  herself  as  if  she  had  acquired  more  im- 
portance. She  brought  with  her  a  great  many  expensive 
clothes,  and  talked  about  them  a  good  deal.  She 
dressed  elaborately,  and  in  a  style  to  which  no  objec- 
tion could  be  made  if  elaborate  clothes  were  accepted  as 
suitable  for  wear  in  the  country  and  at  this  time;  but 
they  did  not  improve  her.  Lady  Brent  ventured  upon  a 
hint  that  Harry  might  like  better  to  see  her  as  she  had 
been  before,  but  she  flared  up  in  offence,  and  let  it  be 
known  that  she  had  learnt  a  lot  since  she  had  been  in 
London.  Harry  also  would  have  learnt  something;  the 
old  days  at  Royd  were  over. 

Underneath  all  her  new  independence,  and  almost  ag- 
gressive spirit,  her  longing  for  Harry  was  plain.  She 
seemed  to  have  resigned  herself  to  his  absence,  and  to 
have  gained  some  satisfaction  out  of  her  life  in  London, 
of  which  she  had  remarkably  little  to  tell.  But  now  that 
he  was  coming  home  again  her  maternal  instinct  arose 
to  swamp  everything  else.  At  the  end  of  the  twenty- 
four  hours  Lady  Brent  spent  alone  with  her  she  was  far 
nearer  to  being  what  she  had  been  before  she  had  left 
Royd.  She  had  to  have  some  sympathetic  ear  into  which 
to  pour  her"  doubts  and  complaints  and  disappointments. 
If  only  Harry  had  told  her  where  he  was  to  be  in 
London,  she  could  have  met  him  there.  Oh,  it  was  hard 
to  think  that  he  might  be  there  now  and  she  could  not 
go  to  him.  When  did  Lady  Brent  think  they  might 
expect  him?  She  asked  her  this  again  and  again,  and 
made  innumerable  confused  calculations,  based  upon  this 


SIDNEY  269 

or  that  idea  that  came  into  her  head.  She  was  very 
trying,  but  she  had  to  be  put  up  with.  She  was  Harry's 
mother,  whatever  she  might  have  made  of  herself. 

On  the  day  after  her  arrival  Lady  Avalon  came, 
with  her  daughter,  but  still  there  was  no  word  from 
Harry. 

They  came  in  time  for  tea,  and  the  two  older  ladies 
retired  to  talk  together  afterwards.  Mrs.  Brent  was 
left  to  entertain  the  girl.  In  the  few  minutes'  conver- 
sation Sidney  had  with  her  mother  before  dinner  she  told 
her  that  unless  she  gained  some  relief  from  that  com- 
panionship she  really  couldn't  stay  at  Royd.  "  She's  a 
perfectly  appalling  woman,  mother,"  she  said.  "  How 
on  earth  she  can  have  had  a  son  like  Harry,  if  he's 
anything  like  he  used  to  be  as  a  child,  I  can't  under- 
stand." 

"  I  don't  think  she's  so  bad  as  all  that,  dear,"  said 
Lady  Avalon.  "  From  what  Lady  Brent  tells  me,  she's 
been  running  with  the  people  she  comes  from,  and  of 
course  they  can't  be  much.  That's  admitted,  though  I 
don't  know  anything  about  them.  She  seemed  a  quiet 
enough  little  thing  when  I  was  here  last.  She'll  settle 
down  again." 

"  I  hope  she  will.  But  it's  a  poor  lookout  for  me 
if  I've  got  to  make  a  bosom  friend  of  her,  while  you  and 
Lady  Brent  are  putting  your  heads  together.  Really, 
darling,  I  don't  think  I  can  stand  it." 

"  Harry  may  be  home  any  day,  and  until  he  does 
come  we  can  spend  most  of  our  time  at  Poldaven, 
though  of  course  we  mustn't  just  make  a  convenience  of 
being  here.  The  Vicarage  people  are  dining  to-night,  so 


270  SIRHARRY 

you  won't  have  her  on  your  hands  entirely.  The  Vicar 
is  David  Grant,  the  novelist.  I  haven't  read  any  of  his 
novels,  but  I  believe  a  lot  of  people  do.  I  expect  he's  a 
clever  man,  and  will  cheer  us  up  a  bit." 

"  I  should  think  we  shall  have  quite  an  hilarious  eve- 
ning— you  and  Lady  Brent  talking  together,  and  me 
and  Mrs.  Brent  and  the  Vicarage  people." 

"  I  thought  you  rather  liked  Vicarage  people.  Don't 
make  yourself  superior  to  your  company,  there's  a  good 
girl.  It's  the  worst  sort  of  form — especially  in  the 
country." 

Whatever  the  allusion  to  Vicarage  people  may  have 
meant,  it  sent  Sidney  out  of  the  room  with  a  blush  on 
her  cheeks,  and  Lady  Avalon  rang  for  her  maid  with  a 
look  on  her  face  as  of  one  who  had  been  rather  clever. 

Sidney  had  grown  into  a  pretty  girl,  though  she  was 
considered  the  ugly  duckling  of  the  handsome  family  to 
which  she  belonged.  She  was  tall,  and  had  not  yet  quite 
grown  out  of  the  youthful  awkwardness  of  her  stature. 
But  there  was  more  character  in  her  well-shaped  features 
than  her  sisters  could  boast  of,  though  their  widely 
known  beauty  had  descended  upon  them  in  early  child- 
hood and  suffered  no  relapse  through  the  years  of  their 
growth.  They  inherited  their  good  looks  from  both 
sides  of  the  family,  but  Sidney  was  the  only  one  of  the 
girls  who  derived  more  from  her  father.  Perhaps  on 
that  account  she  was  his  favourite,  and  he  was  accus- 
tomed to  prophesy  that  she  would  beat  them  all  in  looks 
when  she  really  grew  up.  She  had  kind  eyes  and  a  smil- 
ing mouth,  to  which  her  decisively  jutting  chin  gave 


SIDNEY  271 

character.  Her  skin  was  very  fair  and  clear,  and  her 
abundant  brown  hair  had  just  a  touch  of  auburn  in 
it.  There  were  some  to  whom  the  hint  of  gaucherie  in 
her  carriage  gave  her  an  added  charm.  It  spoke  of 
health  and  youth  and  vigour,  and  went  well  with  her 
free  unafraid  speech  and  her  frequent  smile. 

Grant,  always  on  the  lookout  for  new  types  of 
female  beauty,  but  a  little  inclined  to  make  all  his 
heroines  alike,  studied  her  closely  that  evening  at  dinner 
and  was  enchanted  with  her.  If  he  had  known  that  she 
had  been  looked  upon  as  an  ugly  duckling  in  her  family 
it  would  almost  have  given  him  a  novel  ready  made. 
Mrs.  Grant  liked  her  too,  and  as  they  walked  home 
across  the  park,  cheered  by  the  unaccustomed  pleasures 
of  society,  they  made  a  match  between  her  and  Harry 
there  and  then,  as  the  Pawle  and  Brent  nurses  had  done 
in  their  early  childhood. 

"  I  shouldn't  be  surprised,"  said  Grant,  "  if  Lady 
Brent  had  asked  her  here  with  that  idea  in  her  mind. 
It's  the  first  time  in  the  three  years  we've  been  here  that 
any  young  person  has  stayed  at  the  Castle.  I  dare  say 
Lady  Avalon  is  in  it  too.  They're  old  friends,  and  they 
seem  to  have  their  heads  together  a  good  deal." 

"  Lady  Brent  didn't  know  Harry  was  coming  home 
when  she  told  us  they  were  coming,"  said  Mrs.  Grant. 
"  It's  a  coincidence,  but  perhaps  a  fortunate  one.  They 
played  together  as  children — Harry  and  Lady  Sidney. 
It  would  be  rather  a  pretty  match — except  that  Harry 
is  so  young — not  twenty  yet." 

"  You  think  he  ought  to  wait  a  few  years  and  marry 


272  SIRHARRY 

somebody  much  younger,  eh?     Somebody  about  the  age 
of  Jane." 

Mrs.  Grant  sighed.  "  I  shouldn't  be  a  mother  if  I 
hadn't  thought  of  that."  she  said.  "  And  Jane  will  be 
quite  as  pretty  as  Lady  Sidney  when  she  grows  up.  But 
Harry  is  so  sweet  and  natural  with  the  children  that  it 
would  be  a  pity  to  spoil  it  by  thinking  of  something  that 
would  make  it  all  quite  different.  He  wouldn't  be  what 
he  is  if  he  were  to  think  of  Jane  as  anything  but  a 
child,  for  some  years  yet." 

"  I  think  you're  right,"  said  her  husband.  "  Of 
course  I've  built  a  few  castles  in  the  air.  I  shouldn't 
be  a  father  if  I  hadn't.  But  I  expect  he'll  marry  young ; 
he  seems  to  me  that  sort  of  boy,  somehow.  I  don't  think 
he  could  do  better  than  marry  Lady  Sidney.  She's  very 
interested  in  the  idea  of  him.  She  talked  to  me  a  lot 
about  the  time  they  used  to  play  together  as  children." 

"  She  said  she'd  come  down  to-morrow  morning.  I 
think  she  wants  to  get  away  from  Mrs.  Brent,  though  I 
shouldn't  wonder  if  Mrs.  Brent  came  with  her.  I  think 
she  wants  to  show  me  as  many  of  her  new  clothes  as 
possible.  She  hasn't  improved  up  in  London.  I  don't 
like  her  nearly  as  much  as  I  did." 

"  I  never  cared  for  her  much,"  said  Grant.  "  She's  a 
common  little  thing,  however  she  may  dress  herself  up 
to  disguise  it.  I've  sometimes  wondered  what  Harry  will 
think  about  her  when  he  does  come  home." 

Lady  Sidney  came  down  to  the  Vicarage  the  next 
morning,  and  Mrs.  Brent  came  with  her,  as  Mrs.  Grant 


SIDNEY  273 

had  anticipated.  But  apparently  they  each  wanted  to 
get  rid  of  the  other,  for  directly  Mrs.  Brent  had  greeted 
Mrs.  Grant  she  said :  "  I  want  to  have  a  long  talk  alone 
with  you.  I  wonder  if  you'd  spare  Jane  from  her  lessons 
to  show  Lady  Sidney  the  log  cabin  that  Harry  built 
with  the  children.  I've  been  telling  her  about  it  and  she 
said  she'd  like  to  see  it." 

Sidney  laughed.  "  I  don't  want  to  be  in  the  way," 
she  said,  "  and  I'd  like  to  have  a  walk  with  Jane,  if  she 
can  be  spared." 

Jane  was  fetched.  She  received  Mrs.  Brent's  effusive 
greeting  with  unsmiling  coolness  and  looked  Sidney  over 
very  critically  when  she  was .  introduced  to  her.  The 
inspection  was  apparently  satisfactory,  for  she  went  off 
with  some  alacrity  to  change  her  shoes ;  but  that  may 
have  been  because  she  was  relieved  at  getting  off  the  rest 
of  the  morning's  lessons. 

The  two  girls  set  out  across  the  garden,  where  the 
Vicarage  baby,  now  getting  on  for  three,  was  asleep 
under  a  tree,  as  before.  They  stopped  to  look  at  it, 
and  Sidney  behaved  in  such  a  way  as  to  give  Jane  a  good 
opinion  of  her.  "  She's  a  darling,"  she  said,  as  they 
went  on.  "  I  do  hope  she'll  be  awake  when  we  come 
back.  I  love  to  hear  them  talk  at  that  age,  don't 
you?  " 

Jane  said  she  did,  and  recounted  specimens  of  the 
Vicarage  baby's  wit,  over  which  they  both  laughed 
freely.  They  were  good  friends  by  the  time  they  reached 
the  log  cabin. 

Jane  unlocked  the  door  and  waited  for  admiration, 


274  SIRHARRY 

which  was  given.  "  I've  kept  it  very  tidy  and  clean 
ever  since  Harry  went  away,"  she  said,  looking  solemnly 
at  Sidney.  "  I  hope  he  won't  have  got  too  old  to  like  it. 
He  wrote  to  me,  you  know,  to  say  he  was  coming  back, 
and  he  mentioned  the  log  cabin.  I  expect  he'll  be 
pleased  to  see  it  again." 

There  was  half  an  appeal  in  her  voice.  Sidney  looked 
at  her  quickly.  "  I'm  quite  sure  he  will,"  she  said. 
**  He's  not  so  very  old,  after  all — just  as  old  as  I  am,  in 
fact,  and  I'm  not  a  bit  too  old  to  appreciate  it." 

"  Ah,  but  the  war  may  have  made  a  great  difference 
in  him." 

"  It  doesn't  make  as  much  as  you'd  think."  She  hesi- 
tated for  a  moment,  and  said :  "  I  know  a  man  who  has 
been  through  it  all  from  the  beginning.  He  enlisted  as 
Harry  did,  and  had  a  rough  time  of  it  at  first.  He's 
been  wounded  too — rather  badly.  But  he's  much  the 
same  as  he  was  before." 

Jane  looked  at  her.  "  You  knew  Harry  when  he  was 
little,  didn't  you?"  she  asked.  "We  only  knew  him 
first  three  years  ago.  He  seemed  old  then  to  me  and  my 
brother,  but  he  was  only  sixteen." 

"  Let's  sit  down  somewhere  and  I'll  tell  you  all  about 
it,"  said  Sidney.  "  I  don't  think  I  want  to  walk  any 
more,  unless  you  do." 

They  sat  down  on  the  bench  under  the  eaves,  and 
Sidney  told  her  about  that  summer  when  she  and  Harry 
had  played  together  as  children.  Jane  kept  her  large 
eyes  fixed  upon  her  all  the  time,  and  they  seemed  to  be 
searching  her  and  adding  her  up.  By  and  by  her 


SIDNEY  275 

solemnity  relaxed  and  she  smiled  when  Sidney  did,  and 
asked  her  questions  here  and  there.  When  the  story 
came  to  an  end  it  was  plain  that  she  had  made  up  her 
mind  about  her,  and  that  her  opinion  was  favourable. 

This  was  made  more  evident  still  when  she  said 
calmly :  "  I  expect  Harry  will  fall  in  love  with  you,  if 
you're  here  when  he  comes  home." 

Sidney  looked  at  her  in  surprise,  and  then  laughed. 
"  What  an  extraordinary  girl  you  are ! "  she  said. 
"  You  think  of  everything." 

Jane  laughed  too.  She  was  feeling  more  and  more 
at  home  with  Sidney,  who  did  not  treat  her  as  a  child. 
"  Would  you  like  him  to?  "  she  asked. 

Sidney  was  unexpectedly  silent  and  serious,  and  when 
she  did  speak,  she  did  not  answer  Jane's  question. 
"  Would  you  like  to  be  friends  ?  "  she  asked.  "  Real 
friends,  I  mean,  so  that  we  could  tell  each  other 
things." 

"  Of  course  I  should,"  said  Jane.  "  But  I  expect 
you've  got  lots  of  friends  older  than  me,  that  you  know 
much  better.  I've  got  hardly  anybody,  because  there 
aren't  many  people  about  here,  and  we  don't  go  away 
very  often." 

"  I  always  know  at  once  if  I'm  going  to  like  a  person," 
said  Sidney,  "  and  I  knew  I  should  like  you  when  I  first 
saw  you.  WTe  might  see  a  good  deal  of  one  another  when 
we  come  down  to  Poldaven ;  and  I  shall  want  a  friend.  I 
think  it's  going  to  be  rather  difficult." 

Jane  was  enchanted  at  the  offer  of  friendship.  She 
admired  Sidney  tremendously,  and  to  be  on  equal  terms 


276  SIRHARRY 

with  her  gave  her  a  most  gratifying  sense  of  having  left 
her  childhood  behind  her.  "  Why  do  you  think  it  is 
going  to  be  difficult?  "  she  asked,  concealing  her  grati- 
fication. 

"  Oh,  because,  because !  Well,  because  of  what  you 
said  just  now.  If  you  haven't  seen  it  already  you  will 
very  soon.  It's  what  I've  been  brought  down  here  for. 
They  don't  say  so,  of  course,  but  it's  plain  enough  to 
see.  Of  course  I  shall  like  Harry  awfully,  if  he's  any- 
thing like  he  used  to  be.  But  you  see  I'm  in  love  with 
somebody  else.  That's  the  trouble." 

This  was  a  confession  worth  having  as  an  introduc- 
tion to  the  proffered  friendship.  Jane  didn't  know 
whether  to  be  glad  or  sorry  to  hear  it.  She  had  accepted 
Sidney  as  a  suitable  person  for  Harry  to  fall  in  love 
with,  but  perhaps  it  would  be  of  some  advantage  if  she 
didn't  fall  in  love  with  him.  There  remained,  however, 
the  question  of  his  falling  in  love  with  her. 

"  Perhaps  Harry  ought  to  know  that,"  she  said  after 
a  pause. 

Sidney  looked  at  her  and  laughed  again.  "  You  know 
Harry  better  than  I  do  now,"  she  said.  "  Do  you  think 
he's  likely  to  fall  in  love  with  me?  " 

Jane  considered  this  carefully.  "  I  don't  know ;  I 
think  I  should  if  I  was  him,"  she  said. 

"  It's  very  sweet  of  you  to  say  that,"  said  Sidney, 
becoming  serious  again.  "  Perhaps  I  will  tell  him ;  or 
perhaps  you  shall.  Then  we  shall  all  be  happy  and  com- 
fortable together.  I  should  like  to  have  Harry  as  a 
friend,  and  I  don't  in  the  least  see  why  one  shouldn't 


SIDNEY  277 

have  a  man  as  a  friend  when  you're  in  love  with  another 
man.  Do  you?  " 

Jane  had  not  considered  the  subject,  but  was  pleased 
to  have  her  opinion  asked.  It  drew  her  to  Sidney  more 
than  anything — this  treatment  of  her  as  if  her  opinion 
on  a  grown-up  subject  was  worth  having.  "  Not  if  it's 
quite  understood,"  she  said,  decisively.  "  I'm  really 
rather  glad  that  you  are  in  love  with  somebody  else, 
because  Harry  is  already  my  friend,  and  if  you  are 
going  to  be,  then  I  shall  be  very  well  off — much  better 
than  I  should  be  if  you  and  Harry  wanted  to  be  to- 
gether and  to  leave  me  out  of  it.  I  don't  mind  telling 
Harry,  if  you  like.  It  might  be  rather  awkward  for  you 
to  do  it,  as  it  would  look  as  if  you  were  giving  him  a 
warning.  Who  shall  I  say  you're  in  love  with?  " 

Sidney  laughed  merrily  and  gave  her  a  sudden  em- 
brace. "  I  can't  help  it,"  she  said,  "  you're  such  a 
darling.  Well,  he's  a  Captain  in  the  Grenadier  Guards, 
and  his  name  is  Noel  Chancellor." 

"  That's  the  regiment  that  Harry  was  to  have  gone 
into,"  said  Jane.  "  His  father  and  grandfather  be- 
longed to  it." 

"  Did  they?  "  said  Sidney.  "  Some  of  Noel's  people 
were  in  it  too.  It  sounds  all  right,  but  as  a  matter  of 
fact  Noel  was  a  schoolmaster  when  the  war  broke  out. 
He's  the  son  of  our  vicar  at  home.  When  the  war  is 
over  he  is  going  to  be  a  schoolmaster  again.  So  you 
see  how  it  is." 

In  her  general  ignorance  of  the  world  outside  the 
immediate  parish  of  Royd,  Jane  didn't  quite  see  how 


278  SIR   HARRY 

it  was.  She  asked  kindly  after  Noel  Chancellor  and  was 
given  a  pleasing  impression  of  a  handsome  athletic 
young  man,  who  had  played  cricket  for  Marlborough 
and  Oxford  and  Notts,  and  had  been  happily  engaged  at 
a  health  resort  on  the  East  Coast  of  Kent,  when  the 
war  broke  out,  in  teaching  thirty  or  so  delightful  boys 
under  the  age  of  fourteen  to  play  cricket  as  it  ought  to 
be  played,  and  to  wrestle  with  the  elements  of  Greek  and 
Latin  in  their  spare  time. 

"  Considering  that  all  the  people  who  think  them- 
selves somebody  send  their  children  to  be  educated  in 
schools  like  Noel  was  in,"  said  Sidney.  "  I  should  have 
thought  a  person  like  me  would  have  been  just  the  touch 
that  was  wanted  to  make  it  still  more  of  a  success.  But 
of  course  mother  doesn't  see  it  in  that  light.  It's  all 
very  trying." 

Jane's  affectionate  heart  went  out  to  this  tale  of 
crossed  love,  the  first  that  had  ever  come  within  her 
ken  outside  the  pages  of  her  father's  novels,  which  she 
read  dutifully  but  without  much  interest.  She  thought 
it  quite  natural  that  Lady  Avalon  should  want  Sidney 
to  marry  Harry,  as  both  of  them  had  titles,  but  did  not 
say  this  for  fear  of  being  laughed  at.  She  wanted  to 
be  a  real  help  and  comfort  to  her  new  friend. 

"  I  am  sure  it  will  come  all  right  in  the  end,"  she 
said.  "  Perhaps  when  we  tell  Harry  he  will  be  able  to 
do  something." 


CHAPTER    XXII 

THE    RETURN 

HARRY  came  home  a  few  days  after  Lady  Avalon  and 
Sidney  had  come  to  Royd,  and  two  days  before  they 
had  been  going  away.  But  they  were  persuaded,  with- 
out much  difficulty,  to  stay  a  little  longer.  At  least, 
Lady  Avalon  accepted  Lady  Brent's  invitation  to  pro- 
long their  visit,  and  informed  Sidney  that  she  ha,d  done 
so.  "  You  see  how  it  is,"  said  Sidney  to  Jane,  with 
whom  she  was  now  fast  friends,  much  to  the  maturing 
of  Jane's  behaviour,  but  not  to  the  spoiling  of  her,  as 
her  parents  gratefully  remarked. 

"  She's  a  thoroughly  nice  unaffected  girl,"  said  Grant, 
"  and  she'll  be  a  nice  friend  for  Jane,  especially  if  what 
we  think  is  going  to  happen  does  happen." 

"  I'm  not  sure  she's  not  putting  ideas  into  Jane's 
head,"  said  Miss  Minster.  "  I  know  they  have  secrets 
together,  and  I've  a  sort  of  notion  that  they're  on  the 
eternal  subject  of  love." 

"  Well,"  said  Grant,  "  girls  will  talk  about  love,  I 
suppose,  and  if  they  talk  nicely  I  don't  know  that  there's 
much  harm  done/' 

"  Jane  ought  to  have  learnt  how  to  talk  nicely  about 
love  by  this  time,"  said  Miss  Minster.  ,ith  obvious  refer- 

279 


280  SIRHARRY 

ence.  "  I  think  Lady  Sidney  is  all  right  really,  or  I 
should  perhaps  advise  you  both  differently.  Whether 
she's  going  to  set  her  cap  at  Harry  or  not  I  don't  know, 
and  I  don't  suppose  Jane  would  tell  me  if  I  asked  her. 
But  I'm  pretty  sure  that  they  have  discussed  it." 

Mrs.  Grant  listened  to  this  without  remark,  but  was 
a  little  disturbed  at  the  idea  of  Jane  having  secrets 
which  she  would  not  impart  to  Miss  Minster.  Would 
she  impart  them  to  her?  It  would  mark  a  stage  if 
Jane  were  not  ready  to  tell  her  everything. 

She  was  considering  the  advisability  of  approaching 
Jane  on  the  matter  when  Jane  approached  her.  "  I've 
got  a  secret  with  Sidney,  mother,"  she  said,  in  her 
abrupt  but  open  way.  "  It's  something  she's  told  me 
about  herself.  She  says  she'd  rather  I  didn't  tell  you 
just  yet,  if  you  don't  mind,  but  she  doesn't  mind  my  tell- 
ing you  that  there  is  a  secret.  You  don't  mind,  do 
you?" 

"  What  a  lot  of  '  minds  ' !  "  said  Mrs.  Grant.  "  No, 
darling,  I  don't  mind  at  all,  unless  it's  something  that 
you  think  you  ought  to  tell  me." 

"  Oh,  no,  it's  nothing  of  that  sort,"  said  Jane.  "  It's 
something  about  herself  which  she  doesn't  want  people 
to  know  yet.  I'm  going  to  tell  it  to  Harry  when  he 
comes  home,  so  that  we  can  all  three  enjoy  ourselves 
together." 

Mrs.  Grant,  with  the  idea  in  her  head  that  Sidney  had 
confided  to  Jane  that  she  retained  a  tender  memory  of 
Harry  which  might  become  more  tender  still,  was  a 
little  surprised  at  this  way  of  putting  it ;  but  it  did  not 


THE    RETURN  281 

take  her  long  to  understand  the  truth  when  Jane  had 
left  her.  She  smiled  and  kept  her  own  counsel,  and  liked 
Sidney  all  the  better;  for  she  must  have  known  that  if 
Jane  told  her  that  there  was  a  secret  she  would  guess 
what  the  secret  was,  little  as  Jane  might  suspect  it. 

Harry  sent  a  wire  in  the  morning  to  say  that  he  was 
coming  by  a  train  that  would  arrive  in  the  late  after- 
noon. Only  Mrs.  Brent  drove  to  the  station  to  meet 
him,  but  they  were  all  waiting  for  him  in  front  of  the 
Castle,  the  Grants  inclusive,  and  there  was  scarcely  a 
villager  who  was  not  somewhere  on  the  road,  or  in  the 
more  public  parts  of  the  park  to  see  him  drive  by. 

His  smiling  excitement  at  this  greeting  from  old 
friends — the  only  friends  he  had  had  up  till  two  years 
before — made  him  seem  at  first  exactly  what  he  had 
been.  But  there  was  none  of  the  little  group  at  the 
Castle,  except  Lady  Avalon  and  Sidney,  who  had  not 
the  impression,  after  the  first  greeting,  of  his  having 
become  much  older.  His  fair  boy's  beauty  had  devel- 
oped into  the  sunburnt  hardness  of  a  man.  He  was 
extraordinarily  handsome  in  his  smart  khaki  kit,  but  he 
looked  years  older  than  his  age,  which  was  not  much 
over  nineteen ;  and  his  speech  and  manner  had  altered. 
It  would  be  another  eighteen  months  before  he  would  be 
legally  his  own  master  and  the  master  of  his  ancient 
Castle,  and  all  that  went  with  it ;  but  he  seemed  to  have 
come  into  the  house  as  its  master,  and  to  give  it  a  mean- 
ing that  it  had  never  had  while  it  had  been  ruled  by 
a  woman. 

It  was  not  too  late  for  tea,  which  provided  an  oppor- 


282  SIRHARRY 

tunity  for  everybody  of  getting  used  to  the  new  Harry; 
as  they  sat  on  the  terrace  and  made  play  with  their 
cups  and  conversation.  There  were  adjustments  to  be 
made,  and  the  necessity  for  them  to  be  covered  up. 
Harry  talked  freely  to  everybody.  His  manner  was 
perfect  with  his  grandmother,  to  whom  he  showed 
deference,  while  she,  of  course,  behaved  with  her  usual 
calm  and  let  nothing  appear  of  all  that  she  was  thinking. 
Mrs.  Brent  kept  her  eyes  on  him  all  the  time,  and  had 
an  air  almost  of  bewilderment.  She  did  not  try  to  assert 
herself,  but  accepted  gratefully  the  notice  he  gave  her 
from  time  to  time.  Lady  Avalon  was  the  only  person 
present  who  asked  him  questions  about  his  experiences, 
but  it  soon  became  evident  that  he  had  nothing  to  tell 
that  was  personal  to  himself.  He  answered  the  ques- 
tions, but  with  a  slight  change  in  the  frank  manner  of 
his  speech  when  they  touched  upon  his  own  experiences 
apart  from  the  operations  in  which  he  had  taken  part. 
His  mother  told  Mrs.  Grant  afterwards  that  he  had  said 
to  her  during  the  drive  that  he  wanted  to  forget  every- 
thing that  had  happened  since  he  had  left  home — at 
least  he  didn't  want  to  talk  about  it.  They  had  yet  to 
learn  how  far  his  experiences  had  changed  him,  and  to 
gather  whether  or  no  they  were  such  as  to  have  left  a 
painful  mark  upon  his  life ;  but  he  would  give  them  no 
help  in  coming  to  their  conclusions.  His  life  in  the 
ranks  was  to  remain  as  it  had  been,  a  sealed  book  to 
them. 

With  Sidney  Harry  was  friendly,  but  no  more.    They 
talked  a  little  of  their  childhood,  and  laughed  over  some 


THE    RETURN  283 

of  their  memories,  but  it  was  not,  apparently,  to  be 
the  basis  of  any  special  degree  of  intimacy  between  them. 
Sidney  retired  a  little  into  her  shell  after  a  time,  and 
watched. 

Harry  was  more  like  his  old  self  with  Jane  than  with 
anybody.  Beyond  a  single  remark  about  her  growth  he 
had  not  shown  himself  aware  of  any  change  in  her.  He 
seemed  to  want  to  take  up  their  friendship  at  exactly  the 
place  where  it  had  stopped.  He  asked  her  many  ques- 
tions about  Pobbles,  and  said  he  would  write  to  him. 
His  manner  towards  her  was  that  of  a  grown  man  to  a 
child  whom  he  loves.  Even  Lady  Avalon  did  not  mistake 
it  for  anything  else,  for  she  told  Lady  Brent  afterwards 
that  it  was  rather  extraordinary  that  he  should  not  see 
that  Jane  was  already  growing  into  a  very  pretty  girl, 
with  the  implication  that  the  fact  might  dawn  upon  him 
as  time  went  on. 

Jane  herself  showed  a  high  but  modest  pride  in  the 
value  he  put  upon  her.  "  Now  you  see  what  he's  like," 
she  told  Sidney.  "  When  we  three  can  be  together  and 
enjoy  ourselves — well,  we  shall  enjoy  ourselves.  I  con- 
sider that  Harry  is  about  the  nicest  friend  that  anybody 
can  have.  He  doesn't  forget  you  when  he's  away." 

"  He  hasn't  forgotten  you"  said  Sidney.  "  I'm  be- 
ginning to  wonder  whether  I  shan't  be  a  little  in  the 
way." 

Jane  showed  surprise  at  this,  and  Sidney  laughed  and 
said :  "  Darling  old  thing  you  are !  You  don't  know 
what  you're  worth ;  but  you  will  in  a  year  or  two.  Any- 
how, I'm  not  jealous  of  you,  and  I  like  Harry  for 


284  SIRHARRY 

remembering  his  old  friends  and  not  wanting  to  drop 
them  for  new  ones.  Of  course  I  knew  him  before  you 
did,  but  not  as  he  is  now.  He's  older  than  I  should 
have  thought,  and  I  think  he  looks  rather  sad.  You've 
got  to  cheer  him  up,  and  if  I'm  wanted  to  help  I  shall 
be  quite  ready." 

"  Of  course  you'll  be  wanted  to  help,"  said  Jane. 
"  You'll  be  seeing  more  of  him,  for  one  thing,  as  you 
will  be  staying  in  the  house.  I  suppose  you  won't  mind 
my  being  his  chief  friend  though,  if  you  like  somebody 
else  better." 

"  I  should  be  a  horrid  sort  of  creature  if  I  did,"  said 
Sidney.  "  You  won't  suffer  from  me  when  you're  not 
here." 

Harry  and  Sidney  strolled  together  in  the  garden 
after  dinner,  with  the  full  concurrence  of  their  elders, 
except  possibly  of  Mrs.  Brent,  who  had  not  yet  recov- 
ered from  her  air  of  slight  bewilderment,  and  was 
quieter  than  she  had  been  for  the  last  few  days. 

They  talked  about  Jane,  and  for  the  first  time  Harry 
seemed  to  regard  Sidney  with  interest.  Hitherto  he  had 
been  merely  friendly  with  her  on  the  surface,  as  with 
one  who  was  there  but  didn't  matter  much.  "  Oh,  yes, 
we're  real  friends,"  she  said,  with  her  free  and  pleasant 
smile.  "  I  suppose  you  can  only  see  that  she's  a  child, 
but  I've  never  treated  her  like  one.  I  began  like  that 
because  girls  of  that  age  love  being  talked  to  as  if  they 
were  grown  up,  but  I  very  soon  found  out  what  a  lot 
there  was  in  her.  If  she's  a  child  in  some  ways  still,  as 
of  course  she  is,  it  makes  her  ah"  the  more  fascinating. 


THE    RETURN  285 

She's  one  in  a  thousand.     She'll  make  all  the  difference 
to  me  down  here,  if  I  can  get  hold  of  her  sometimes." 

"  She's  a  real  person?"  Harry  said.  "  If  you  and  she 
have  made  friends  it  will  be  jolly  for  all  three  of  us. 
We  can  all  be  friends  together." 

"  That's  what  Jane  wants,"  said  Sidney.  "  She's  de- 
voted to  you,  and  I  believe  she's  also  devoted  to  me, 
though  not  so  much  so.  We  can  go  and  get  hold  of  her 
to-morrow  morning,  can't  we?  She  has  a  holiday  on 
Saturday." 

"  Oh  yes.  I'm  very  glad  you  want  to.  I  was  half 
afraid  you  might  think  she  was  too  young  for  you." 

"  I  suppose  you  mean  that  you  were  half  afraid  you'd 
have  to  dance  attendance  on  me,  when  you'd  rather  have 
been  with  Jane;  but  you  see  you  need  fear  nothing  of 
that  sort." 

They  looked  at  one  another.  There  was  just  light 
enough  to  catch  an  expression  of  face.  Then  they 
both  laughed,  and  became  friends  from  that  moment. 

"  We'd  settled  that  Jane  was  to  tell  you,"  said  Sidney, 
"  but  I  think  I  might  as  well  do  it  myself.  I'm  engaged 
to  somebody,  but  the  engagement  is  not  smiled  upon. 
In  fact  it  isn't  recognized  at  all,  and  can't  be  spoken 
of.  But  Jane  and  I  thought  that  if  you  knew  of  it  it 
would  make  things  more  comfortable  all  round  for  us 
three." 

Harry  asked  her  questions  and  showed  a  friendly  sym- 
pathy towards  her  love  affair.  But  the  idea  of  it  seemed 
to  make  him  rather  sad  too,  and  Sidney  did  not  make 
the  mistake  of  thinking  that  his  sadness  was  due  to  any 


286  SIRHARRY 

disappointment  created  by  what  she  had  told  him.  In- 
deed her  information  had  cleared  the  air,  which  held 
more  of  friendliness  and  companionship  in  it  than  be- 
fore, as  if  he  were  relieved  at  having  it  quite  understood 
that  he  would  not  be  expected  to  make  love  to  her,  but 
short  of  that  would  give  her  all  the  friendship  that  she 
wanted,  and  be  glad  to  take  in  return  all  that  she  had 
to  give  to  him. 

She  had  a  good  deal  to  give  him.  That  baby's  friend- 
ship which  seemed  to  have  meant  nothing  to  him  had 
kept  him  alive  in  her  heart.  He  was  not  quite  like  other 
men  to  her.  Something  of  his  childhood  lingered  about 
him,  though  he  had  advanced  so  far  on  the  hard  road 
of  manhood,  and  but  for  her  memories  of  him  would 
have  seemed  to  her  much  older  than  his  years.  She  felt 
the  desire  to  encourage  in  him  those  gleams  of  boyish 
laughter  and  irresponsibility  which  had  once  or  twice 
shone  out  through  the  half-weary  indifference  of  his 
attitude.  She  thought  that  he  must  have  been  through 
a  harsh  disillusioning  experience,  and  was  too  tired  in 
spirit  to  accept  all  at  once  the  freedom  of  his  release. 
Her  own  lover,  who  was  some  years  older  than  Harry, 
had  told  her  that  it  needed  a  good  deal  of  resolution  and 
self-hardening  to  go  through  the  ranks,  and  that  some- 
times only  the  remembrance  of  her  had  kept  him  up  to 
it.  She  thought  she  knew  more  than  other  girls  were 
likely  to  know  what  it  must  have  meant  to  Harry,  who 
did  not  seem  even  to  want  to  speak  of  it.  The  maternal 
instinct  which  is  in  all  women  drew  her  to  sympathy  with 
him.  She  and  Jane  between  them  would  get  rid  of  that 


THE    RETURN  287 

sadness  and  tiredness  that  lay  over  him.  If  Jane  was 
too  young,  and  she  too  occupied  with  somebody  else  to 
give  him  the  consolation  that  would  quickly  heal  such 
wounds  as  he  was  suffering  from,  he  would  still,  surely, 
respond  to  their  affection,  and  forget  his  troubles.  She 
must  not  talk  too  much  about  her  own  happiness.  That 
seemed  to  depress  him,  kind  as  he  was  about  it.  Of 
course  it  was  love  he  wanted,  though  he  might  not  know 
it.  It  was  a  pity  that  Jane  was  not  a  few  years  older, 
or  that  she  herself  was  the  only  unmarried  one  of  all 
her  sisters.  She  did  not  suppose  that  there  was  any- 
body else  in  these  parts,  from  what  she  remembered  of 
them,  who  would  be  good  enough  for  Harry.  But  per- 
haps it  was  just  as  well.  She  and  he  and  Jane  would 
enjoy  themselves  together,  and  show  the  world,  if  the 
world  happened  to  take  notice  and  be  interested,  that  a 
man  and  two  girls  could  be  the  best  of  friends  with  no 
question  of  love  affecting  their  intercourse. 

Perhaps  that  evening  they  might  have  got  further 
into  intimacy,  but  Harry  had  still  something  to  do 
before  he  could  feel  himself  free  to  take  his  enjoyment 
in  the  youthful  companionship  that  had  been  so  fortu- 
nately provided  for  him. 

"  I'm  very  glad  you're  to  be  here  for  a  bit,"  he  said. 
"  There  aren't  many  young  people  about  and  it  would 
have  been  a  bit  dull  for  me,  though  I  should  have  tried 
my  best  to  keep  it  from  my  mother  and  grandmother. 
I  think  I  must  go  in  and  have  a  talk  with  Granny  now, 
if  you  don't  mind.  I  haven't  seen  her  alone  since  I 
came  back." 


288  SIRHARRY 

But  apparently  Mrs.  Brent  had  decided  that  there 
was  to  be  no  talk  between  those  two  alone,  as  long  as 
she  could  prevent  it.  Lady  Avalon  and  Sidney  said  good 
night  soon  after  ten  o'clock,  and  when  they  had  gone 
Mrs.  Brent  said :  "  Come  out  for  a  little  with  me,  Harry 
dear.  It's  quite  warm,  and  I  don't  even  want  a  wrap. 
If  you're  tired,  as  I  expect  you  are,  you  can  go  straight 
to  bed  when  we've  just  had  a  little  stroll." 

Lady  Brent  sat  like  a  sphinx.  Harry  said:  "All 
right,  mother.  But  I'm  not  tired.  We'll  go  out  for  ten 
minutes  and  then  I'll  have  a  little  talk  with  Granny." 

Directly  they  were  in  the  garden,  Mrs.  Brent  said  in 
a  querulous  tone :  "  Why  should  you  want  to  have  a  talk 
with  her?  She  took  you  away  from  me  a  lot  when  you 
were  a  child,  but  now  it's  different.  She  ought  not  to 
have  any  more  authority  over  you  than  I  have." 

Harry  laughed  at  her.  "  Authority  !  "  he  echoed.  "  I 
don't  feel  like  anybody  having  much  authority  over  me 
now,  little  mother."  He  spoke  tenderly,  but  there  was  a 
hint  of  impatience  in  his  tone,  which  she  detected. 

"  I'm  sure  I  don't  want  to  direct  you  in  any  way," 
she  said.  "  I  only  want  to  feel  that  you're  mine  now 
that  you've  grown  up,  and  not  hers.  Nobody  in  the 
world  loves  you  as  much  as  I  do.  I  suppose  you'll  marry 
some  day,  and  I  shan't  grumble  at  that  when  the  time 
comes.  But  until  then  I  want  to  feel  that  you  and  I 
are  all  in  all  to  one  another." 

He  answered  only  her  reference  to  his  grandmother. 
"  You're  my  mother,"  he  said.  "  In  one  way  you've 
always  been  more  to  me  than  Granny.  But  I  owe  her  a 


THE    RETURN  289 

good  deal,  and  I  mustn't  forget  it.  I  haven't  done  much 
for  her  since  I  went  away.  Now  that  I've  got  what  I 
wanted,  and  have  come  back  again,  I  want  to  make  up 
for  that — to  both  of  you." 

"  It  was  very  cruel  of  you  to  cut  yourself  off  from  us 
as  you  did,  Harry,"  she  said.  "  You  needn't  have  done 
it.  Even  she  wouldn't  have  prevented  you  doing  what 
you  wanted  to  do,  when  once  you'd  done  it." 

"  We  needn't  talk  about  that,"  he  said,  decisively. 
"  It's  all  over  now.  It's  what  I  want  to  tell  her.  You 
must  let  me  have  a  little  talk  with  her  when  we  go  in, 
please,  mother." 

"  You  mean  you  want  me  to  go  to  bed  while  you  sit 
and  talk  to  her  alone.  Why  should  you  want  that? 
Why  shouldn't  I  be  there  too?  " 

"  Well,  because  you're  not  friendly  to  her,  and  I  want 
to  be — poor  old  Granny !  I  suppose  you've  never  got  on 
well  together.  I  used  to  feel  it,  though  I  didn't  think 
about  it  much.  I  think  you  both  tried  to  keep  it  from 
me.  I'd  much  rather  you  tried  to  get  rid  of  that  feeling, 
mother  dear.  It  makes  me  unhappy,  and  you  can't  hide 
it  from  me  any  longer.  After  all,  Royd  is  her  home. 
I'm  rather  sorry  you  left  it.  I  liked  to  think  of  it  with 
you  and  her  here,  just  as  it  used  to  be." 

"  Oh,  I  couldn't  stay  here  when  you  had  gone.  It  was 
too  much  to  ask  of  anybody.  I  suppose  she'll  always  be 
here — at  least  till  you  come  of  age  and  are  master  in- 
stead of  her.  Couldn't  we  go  away  together — I  don't 
mean  now,  but  after  you've  been  here  a  little,  to  London 
or  somewhere — just  you  and  I  together?  I've  had  so 


290  SIR   HARRY 

little  of  you,  Harry,  all  to  myself.  All  the  dull  years 
here,  while  she  has  been  everything  and  I  have  been 
nothing,  I've  looked  forward  to  it — to  having  you  to 
myself  for  a  little,  when  you  were  grown  up." 

She  peered  into  his  face,  and  saw  a  frown  on  it ;  but 
when  he  spoke  it  had  cleared,  and  he  spoke  very  kindly. 
"  I  may  have  to  go  to  London  before  my  leave  is  up," 
he  said.  "  But  I  should  want  to  go  alone.  And  I  don't 
want  to  be  away  from  Royd  more  than  I  can  help. 
You've  always  belonged  to  Royd,  mother,  ever  since  I 
can  remember.  When  I'm  with  you  I'd  rather  be  here 
than  anywhere.  Please  don't  spoil  it  for  me  by  making 
things  difficult  with  Granny.  I  think  I'll  go  in  to  her 
now.  I  mustn't  keep  her  up  late." 

She  expostulated,  plaintively,  as  they  went  towards 
the  house  together.  She  felt  that  he  was  slipping  from 
her,  and  that  nothing  would  be  as  she  had  pictured  it, 
but  she  had  not  the  self-control  to  spare  him  her  com- 
plaints and  appeals.  He  was  always  kind,  but  he  was 
firm  too,  with  a  man's  firmness  towards  a  weak  and 
foolish  woman.  He  had  grown  immeasurably  in  mental 
stature,  and  his  determination  impressed  itself  upon  her 
increasingly.  That  mention  of  authority  over  him  with 
which  she  had  begun  now  seemed  foolish  even  to  her. 
As  they  went  into  the  house  she  said :  "  Of  course  I  don't 
want  to  treat  you  like  a  boy  any  more.  I  only  want  to 
be  sure  that  you  don't  love  anybody  better  than  me. 
You  do  love  me  best,  don't  you,  Harry?  " 

He  bent  down  and  kissed  her.  "  You  know  I  love 
you,  mother,"  he  said.  "  Now  I'll  go"  and  talk  to 


THE    RETURN  291 

Granny.  Come  and  see  me  when  I  go  to  bed — say  in 
half  an  hour — as  you  used  to." 

That  comforted  her  a  little,  and  she  went  upstairs, 
while  he  went  into  the  drawing-room  where  Lady  Brent 
was  still  sitting  where  they  had  left  her. 

"  Well,  Granny  dear,"  he  said.  "  I  thought  we'd 
have  a  little  talk.  I've  got  things  to  tell  you." 

She  laid  down  her  work,  and  looked  at  him  fondly, 
sitting  in  a  low  chair  opposite  to  her,  so  young  in  ap- 
pearance, as  he  sat  there  with  his  long  legs  stretched 
out,  but,  as  she  felt,  so  old  in  experience,  and  so  dif- 
ferent from  the  boy  he  had  been. 

"  Please  don't  think,  dear  Harry,"  she  said,  "  that 
you  owe  me  any  explanation  of  anything.  I've  had  a 
long  time  to  think  it  all  out,  you  know.  I  think  I 
understand  most  things.  Don't  you  want  it  treated  as 
if  it  was  all  over  now,  and  begin  again,  much  as  it 
was  before?  If  so,  I  want  that  too.  We've  got  you  at 
home  now,  and  we  want  to  be  all  happy  together." 

His  face  cleared  as  he  spoke.  "  It's  very  good  of  you 
to  put  it  like  that,"  he  said.  "  Yes,  of  course  I  want 
it  to  be  as  much  as  possible  what  it  used  to  be  as  long 
as  I  can  be  here  with  you.  There's  a  good  deal  I  want 
to  forget." 

"  I'm  afraid  you've  been  through  a  very  hard  time, 
Harry." 

"  Not  harder  than  others,  Granny.  It's  not  a  bad 
thing  to  learn  what  you  have  to  learn  in  a  hard  school. 
Perhaps  you  learn  it  all  the  quicker." 

There  was  a  pause  before  she  said :    "  It  has  troubled 


292  SIRHARRY 

me  a  good  deal — the  thought  of  your  going  straight 
from  the  life  you  lived  here  into  the  ranks.  It  wasn't 
that  that  we'd  tried  to  prepare  you  for." 

"  Oh,  the  ranks ! "  he  said.  "  You  needn't  let  that 
worry  you,  Granny.  I'm  glad  I  went  into  the  ranks. 
I'd  rather  do  it  that  way  than  any." 

She  showed  some  surprise  at  this.  "  I've  thought  it 
over  and  over,"  she  said.  "  But  I've  never  thought  of 
it  in  that  way.  It  was  the  roughness  and  coarseness  I 
hated  for  you.  Isn't  that  what  you  want  to  forget  ?  " 

He  was  silent  for  a  time,  looking  down.  Then  he 
burst  out :  "  It's  learning  what  the  beastliness  of  life  is 
that  I  want  to  forget.  That's  what  I'd  never  known.  I 
never  minded  hard  work — doing  what  others  do.  And 
I  doubt  whether  I  should  have  been  let  down  so  easily 
with  people  like  myself — on  the  outside,  I  mean.  No, 
I  was  nearer  to  the  men  who  had  lived  simpler  lives.  I 
understood  them  better  than  I  should  have  done  the 
others.  And  they  were  good  to  me  too.  I  don't  think 
I  should  have  wanted  to  get  a  commission  if  I  hadn't 
felt  I  ought  to.  I  should  have  been  content  to  go  on 
till  the  end  of  it.  But  now  it's  all  got  to  begin  again. 
Oh,  don't  let's  talk  of  it.  I've  got  a  month  here,  where 
it's  quiet  and  clean  and  beautiful.  Let's  forget  what's 
past  and  what's  coming.  I  never  meant  to  talk  of  it.  I 
only  wanted  to  tell  you  what  I  was  going  to  do,  and  to 
thank  you  for  letting  me  go  my  own  way." 

Poor  Lady  Brent  went  to  bed  that  night  with  some- 
thing new  to  think  about.  She  could  not  sleep,  and 
wrote  a  long  letter  to  Wilbraham  in  London.  "  We 


THE    RETURN  293 

might  have  thought  of  that,"  she  wrote  in  the  course  of 
it.  "  It  wouldn't  have  been  the  little  hardships  that 
would  trouble  him.  He  had.  prepared  himself  for  all 
that,  with  the  life  out  of  doors  that  he  had  led  here. 
And  he  would  understand  the  men  he  wag  with,  because 
he  was  friends  with  everybody  about  here.  I'm  sure  they 
must  have  loved  him  too,  and  all  the  more  because  he 
wasn't  like  them.  The  others  would  have  expected  him 
to  be  like  them.  I  am  full  of  trouble  about  him.  It 
looks  to  me  now  as  if  we  had  prepared  him  for  nothing, 
so  as  to  save  him  pain.  Life  has  come  as  a  shock  to 
him,  and  he  has  not  got  over  it  yet.  But  one  thing  I'm 
sure  of — he  must  work  it  out  for  himself.  I  shall  meddle 
with  him  no  more.  I  am  not  sure  that  I  have  not  made 
a  great  mistake." 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

CONFIDENCES 

WHATEVER  it  was  that  Lady  Brent  and  Lady  Avalon 
had  plotted  between  them,  it  needed  no  adjustment  of 
Lady  Brent's  statement  to  Wilbraham — that  hence- 
forth she  should  meddle  no  more  in  Harry's  life — to  help 
or  hinder  it.  They  had  only  to  stand  aside  and  per- 
haps to  congratulate  one  another  upon  the  way  their 
desires  were  being  fulfilled.  Only  Mrs.  Brent  went  about 
with  a  downcast  face  and  air,  and  but  for  the  kindness 
Harry  showed  her  might  as  well  have  been  back  in  Lon- 
don. She  also  wrote  to  Wilbraham,  and  told  him  that 
Harry  and  Sidney  seemed  to  be  falling  more  and  more  in 
love  with  one  another  every  day. 

"  Of  course  it's  hard  on  me,"  she  wrote.  "  But  it's 
what  mothers  are  made  for,  I  suppose.  You  do  every- 
thing for  your  children  and  sink  yourself  entirely,  and 
then  some  girl  steps  in  and  takes  it  all  from  you.  How- 
ever, I'm  not  going  to  show  her  that  I  feel  it.  She's 
got  the  better  of  me  once  more.  The  girl  doesn't  take 
the  slightest  trouble  about  me — doesn't  think  I'm  worth 
it,  I  suppose — and  for  myself  I  don't  care  about  her. 
But  she  is  the  right  sort  of  girl  for  Harry  to  marry, 
or  at  any  rate  to  fall  in  love  with.  Whatever  I  am, 
I'm  fair,  and  I  can  see  that.  I  should  hate  anybody 

294 


CONFIDENCES  295 

who  would  take  him  away  from  me,  so  it  might  just  as 
well  be  her  as  anybody.  They're  happy  together,  and 
Harry  is  more  like  his  old  self.  I'm  sure  they've  not 
said  anything  to  one  another  yet.  They  take  Jane 
Grant  with  them  whenever  they  can  get  hold  of  her,  and 
they  wouldn't  want  to  do  that  if  it  had  gone  very  far 
with  them.  The  moment  they  want  to  go  off  by  them- 
selves I  shall  know  what  to  expect,  and  I'll  let  you  know, 
but  I  hope  you'll  be  down  here  before  then.  We  are 
very  glad  you  are  coming.  Harry  often  talks  about 
you.  How  I  wish  it  was  all  like  it  used  to  be !  But  it 
never  will  be  again." 

Harry  and  Sidney  rode  together,  and  Harry  found  a 
horse  for  Jane  and  taught  her  to  ride.  Lady  Avalon 
had  a  car  at  Royd  and  sometimes  they  motored  over  to 
Poldaven,  where  everything  was  now  ready  for  the  recep- 
tion of  a  family  of  distinction.  But  Lady  Avalon  had 
gone  back  to  London,  and  Sidney  stayed  on  at  Royd. 
There  was  no  talk  of  her  going  away. 

Jane  could  not  be  always  with  them.  She  had  been 
let  off  afternoon  lessons,  by  special  request,  but  had  to 
occupy  herself  with  them  in  the  mornings. 

One  hot  morning  Harry  and  Sidney  motored  over  to 
Poldaven  Castle.  It  was  an  old  stone  house,  not  very 
big,  which  stood  on  a  boldly  jutting  cliff  with  the  sea 
on  three  sides  of  it.  There  was  generally  some  wind 
hereabouts,  and  there  was  a  strong  fresh  wind  this  morn- 
ing, though  among  the  woods  of  Royd  it  was  close 
and  still. 

They  went  down  to  a  little  sheltered  garden  below 


296  SIR   HARRY 

the  house.  It  had  been  partly  hollowed  out  of  the  rock, 
and  was  partly  rock-strewn  grass  and  gorse  and  fern 
tamed  into  some  semblance  of  ordered  ground,  but  not 
too  much  to  take  from  the  charm  of  its  wildness.  Steps 
cut  in  the  rock  led  down  to  it  from  above,  and  steps 
had  been  made  from  it  to  the  sea,  which  lay  fifty  or 
sixty  feet  below.  They  sat  on  a  stone  bench  overlooking 
the  heaving  emerald  mass  of  the  sea,  and  the  waves 
breaking  in  a  high  tide  against  the  cliffs  and  the  huge 
scattered  rocks  that  littered  the  shore. 

They  were  very  good  friends  now,  these  two.  It  was 
Jane  who  had  brought  them  together,  for  she  greatly 
admired  both  of  them,  and  would  not  be  content  until 
they  admired  one  another.  So  they  laughed  at  her  and 
affected  a  wondering  awe  at  each  other's  perfections 
when  they  were  in  her  presence ;  and  when  they  were 
alone  together  they  sometimes  kept  up  the  game,  to 
prevent  themselves  falling  into  sadness  over  their  private 
troubles. 

They  were  both  a  little  sad  now,  as  they  sat  on  the 
sun-warmed  rock  and  looked  out  on  the  surge  of  the 
waves.  Nature  was  so  bright  and  fresh  and  happy,  and 
seemed  to  be  inviting  a  mood  to  respond  to  her  own. 
She  could  put  on  this  air  of  perpetual  laughing  youth- 
fulness,  though  age-old  and  subject  to  moods  very  dif- 
ferent. It  seemed  ungracious  not  to  laugh  and  be  happy 
with  her. 

"  It's  lovely  here,"  Sidney  said.  "  If  only  things 
would  go  right!  You're  the  most  perfect  person  in  the 
world,  Harry.  I  ought  to  be  quite  happy  being  here 


CONFIDENCES  297 

with  you,  but  I  want  somebody  else.  I'm  wanting  him 
rather  badly  just  at  present." 

"  Well,  you're  everything  you  ought  to  be,  but  I  want 
somebody  else  too,"  he  said. 

He  rose  impulsively  and  leant  against  the  wall  of 
the  little  terrace  with  one  arm  resting  on  it',  and  looked 
down  at  her.  "  I've  thought  I'd  tell  you  for  some  time," 
he  said.  "  I  want  to  tell  somebody.  I  can't  tell  Jane ; 
she's  too  young.  But  you're  in  the  same  boat  as  I  am ; 
you'll  understand.  And  we're  friends  too,  aren't  we? — 
always  have  been." 

She  had  appeared  startled  at  his  announcement,  but 
her  face  was  soft  as  he  finished.  "  Oh,  yes,  we're 
friends,"  she  said.  "  I'm  so  glad  you've  told  me,  Harry. 
Do  you  know  I've  wondered  sometimes  whether  there  was 
somebody.  You  so  often  look — well,  you  look  like  I  feel. 
You're  enjoying  yourself,  but  there's  somebody  you're 
thinking  of  all  the  time  who  isn't  there.  Do  tell  me 
about  it." 

He  told  her  about  his  meeting  with  Viola  on  the  moor, 
and  how  they  had  seen  one  another  constantly  after- 
wards and  loved  one  another.  Sidney's  eyes  were  kind 
as  she  listened,  but  there  was  a  little  frown  of  puzzle- 
ment on  her  face.  It  was  to  be  supposed  that  she 
wanted  to  "  place  "  this  lovely  girl  who  had  come  to 
Harry  as  a  revelation  when  he  had  been  only  a  boy,  and 
whom  he  adored  still.  He  had  told  her  nothing  about 
her  so  far,  except  that  her  father  was  an  artist  and  they 
had  been  holiday-making  at  Royd.  There  were  many 
questions  she  wanted  to  ask. 


298  SIRHARRY 

"  Have  you  got  a  photograph  of  her,  Harry?  "  was 
the  first  that  she  asked.  She  wanted  to  satisfy  herself 
that  he  was  not  idealizing  somebody  not  worthy  of  him. 

Half  unwillingly  he  took  his  case  out  of  his  pocket, 
and  Viola's  photograph  out  of  it.  "  It  isn't  as  beautiful 
as  she  is,"  he  said,  "  but  it's  like  her  in  some  ways." 

Sidney  took  the  card  and  looked  at  it  for  a  long  time. 
It  was  of  Viola  as  Harry  had  first  known  her,  young 
and  sweet  and  untroubled. 

"  She's  very  lovely,"  she  said,  slowly.  Then  she 
looked  up  at  him  with  a  smile.  "  I'm  so  glad,  Harry.  I 
shouldn't  like  to  think  of  you  in  love  with  somebody 
who  wasn't  like  that.  But  I  think  she'd  have  to  be,  for 
you  to  fall  in  love  with  her.  Have  you  seen  her  since  ?  " 

Yes,  he  had  seen  her  two  or  three  times  before  he  had 
been  sent  abroad,  and  he  had  been  with  her  since  he  had 
come  back,  before  he  had  come  to  Royd.  She  was  in 
London,  working  in  a  government  office.  He  was  going 
to  London  for  a  few  days  before  his  leave  was  up,  and 
would  see  her  again  after  that  before  he  went  to  France. 

He  spoke  as  if  he  was  troubled  about  it,  and  she  knew 
why.  But  there  was  a  lot  to  learn  about  it  yet.  And 
there  was  something  about  the  beginnings  of  this  love 
affair  that  she  could  not  quite  reconcile  with  her  knowl- 
edge of  Harry. 

"  Of  course  you're  both  frightfully  young,"  she  said. 
"  Noel  and  I  are  of  an  age  to  get  married  if  they'd  let 
us,  but  I  suppose  you  could  hardly  expect  them  to  think 
that  you  were.  But  mightn't  they  accept  your  engage- 
ment, and  let  her  be  here  with  you?  " 


CONFIDENCES  299 

He  came  and  sat  on  the  seat  beside  her  again.  "  Of 
course  we  shall  be  married  some  day,"  he  said.  "  But 
we  never  thought  about  that,  or  about  what  you  call  an 
engagement — I  mean  we  didn't  think  of  it  in  the  way 
that  older  people  would.  We  were  just  happy  loving 
each  other." 

"  Oh,  I  know,"  she  said.  "  It's  a  lovely  time  that — 
perhaps  the  best  of  all.  But  afterwards  you  come  down 
to  the  earth  a  little.  I  suppose  it  has  been  like  that  with 
you,  hasn't  it  ?  There  are  one's  people  to  be  considered, 
and  what  they  are  likely  to  think  about  it.  I  suppose 
nobody  knows — at  Royd." 

"  Wilbraham  does — my  tutor,  you  know.  Nobody 
else  does." 

She  showed  surprise  at  this.  "  Did  he  find  out  you 
were  seeing  her?  "  she  asked. 

He  stirred  uneasily.  He  did  not  answer  her  ques- 
tion directly.  "  I  don't  suppose  you'd  realize  quite  how 
it  was  with  me  here,  before  I  went  away,"  he  said. 
"  They'd  kept  me  shut  up.  I  was  happy  enough,  but  I 
knew  absolutely  nothing  about  the  world.  From  what 
I've  learnt  since,  I  know  it  must  look  as  if  we  had  met 
surreptitiously.  Perhaps  we  did,  and  yet  it  wasn't  like 
that  either.  It  was  the  most  natural  thing  in  the  world 
for  us  to  be  together  as  we  were.  At  first  I  even  thought 
of  telling  my  mother  about  it.  I  don't  know  now  when 
it  first  dawned  upon  me  that  they  wouldn't  have  ap- 
proved— or  why.  I  shouldn't  have  cared  much  if  they 
had  known.  But  it  was  such  a  beautiful  secret  between 


300  SIRHARRY 

Viola  and  me ;  I  didn't  want  it  to  be  spoiled  by  other — 
older  people — coming  in." 

"  Mr.  Wilbraham  knew,"  she  said. 

"  He'd  seen  her.  He  knew  what  she  was  like.  He's 
a  dear  old  thing — full  of  understanding  and  sympathy. 
I  don't  know  why  he  didn't  tell  Granny.  I  didn't  ask 
him  not  to.  I  wouldn't  have  done  that ;  that  would  have 
looked  as  if  I  had  done  something  I  was  ashamed  of. 
I've  had  an  idea  since  that  he  had  some  sort  of  feeling 
that  we  were  two  men  together,  and  it  wasn't  for  us  to 
be  directed  in  our  affairs  by  a  woman.  Something  like 
that.  Granny  has  always  been  very  much  at  the  head 
of  things  here." 

"  Yes,  I  see,"  she  said.  "  But  now  you're  older, 
Harry;  and  it  has  lasted?  That  sort  of  love,  when 
you're  very  young,  doesn't  always  last,  you  know. 
Wouldn't  Lady  Brent  accept  it  now?  It  would  be  so 
lovely  if  she  could  come  here,  and  you  could  be  happy 
with  her  as  long  as  you're  in  England.  You  wouldn't 
have  to  go  away  to  London  to  see  her  then." 

There  was  silence  for  a  time,  except  for  the  noise 
of  the  waves  on  the  rocks,  and  the  plaintive  cry  of  the 
gulls  wheeling  above  them.  Harry  sat  looking  on  the 
rocky  floor,  Sidney  out  to  sea. 

"  I've  had  to  decide  such  a  lot  of  things  for  myself 
lately,"  he  said.  "  I'd  decided  not  to  do  that." 

She  thought  his  tone  sounded  as  if  he  were  wavering 
about  his  decision.  She  did  not  look  at  him,  but  said: 
"  With  Noel  and  me  it's  a  very  ordinary  sort  of  diffi- 
culty. He's  not  what  they'd  call  a  good  match.  But  I 


CONFIDENCES  301 

suppose  they  won't  hold  out  if  we  show  that  we  mean 
to  have  our  own  way.  If  they  do,  well,  I  shall  wait  till 
I'm  twenty-one  and  marry  him — just  like  that.  But, 
of  course,  it  would  make  a  lot  of  difference  if  they  smiled 
on  us  now,  instead  of  keeping  us  apart.  The  real  reason 
why  we've  come  down  here  is  because  if  he  comes  home 
on  leave  I  should  see  him,  and  they  don't  want  me  to; 
and  partly,  I  suppose,  because  they  think  you  and  I 
might  get  to  like  each  other,  now  we're  both  grown  up. 
Why  can't  they  let  us  be  happy  in  our  own  way — the 
older  people?  They've  done  what  they  wanted,  or  if 
they  haven't  they're  probably  rather  sorry  for  it  now. 
I  should  be  very  glad  if  Noel  were  in  the  sort  of  position 
that  my  sisters'  husbands  are.  But  I  shouldn't  love  him 
any  better  for  it.  It's  love  that  counts." 

"  Yes,  of  course,"  said  Harry.  "  Well,  both  you  and 
I  are  going  to  get  what  we  want  by  and  by.  I  suppose 
we  shall  have  to  wait  about  the  same  time  for  it.  But 
you  never  know  what's  going  to  happen  to  you  in  these 
days.  If  I  were  to  get  killed,  I  should  have  missed  some- 
thing I  ought  to  have  had.  You'd  say  it  wouldn't  make 
much  difference  to  me,  but  I  don't  look  at  it  like  that ; 
and  anyhow  it  would  make  a  difference  to  Viola,  all 
her  life." 

Her  eyes  had  filled  with  tears.  "  It  just  doesn't  do 
to  think  about  that,"  she  said,  "  or  to  talk  about  it." 

He  looked  at  her  quickly,  and  put  his  hand  on  hers 
as  it  lay  on  the  stone  between  them.  "  I'm  sorry,"  he 
said.  "  I  didn't  mean  to  be  a  brute.  We  take  it  like 
that,  you  know;  it  doesn't  make  any  difference  to  us. 


302  SIRHARRY 

Nobody  worries  about  it.  But,  of  course  it's  different 
for  you." 

She  dried  her  eyes.  "  It  won't  happen  to  Noel  or 
you,"  she  said.  "  We  shall  all  four  of  us  be  happy  by 
and  by.  But  why  shouldn't  you  be  happy  now,  Harry? 
Is  it  necessary  that  you  should  keep  it  a  secret  still?  " 

The  troubled  look  returned  to  his  face.  "  I'm  differ- 
ent from  other  men,"  he  said.  "  Everything  was  spared 
me  when  I  was  young.  I've  had  to  learn  everything 
since  I  grew  up,  and  it  isn't  a  pleasant  world  to  learn 
in  now.  But  whatever  I  have  to  do  I  must  do  now  on 
my  own  responsibility.  I  should  have  to  ask  for  Viola 
to  come  here.  I  couldn't  do  that.  When  she  comes  here, 
she'll  come  of  her  own  right — the  right  that  I  shall 
give  her." 

"  But  if  you  were  to  tell  them  about  her,  Harry 

"  Yes,  that's  what  I've  thought  of  doing.  But  I  can't 
do  that  either.  They  might  accept  her,  but  if  they 
didn't — it's  like  it  is  with  you.  They  want  something 
else." 

She  sighed.  "  I'm  glad  you've  told  me,  at  any  rate," 
she  said.  "  It  puts  everything  right  now.  You  know 
about  me  and  I  know  about  you.  I  suppose  Jane  doesn't 
know?" 

"  No.  And  we  mustn't  tell  her.  I  wish  I  could,  but 
it  wouldn't  be  fair  on  her.  She'll  be  the  first  person  I 
shall  tell  on  that  happy  day  when  I  can  tell  everybody." 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

HOLIDAY 

WIL.BRAHAM  came  down  to  Royd  for  a  week-end  visit. 
It  was  all  he  could  spare  from  his  arduous  duties.  He 
was  thinner  than  he  had  been,  but  seemed  to  have  flour- 
ished under  the  severe  course  of  work  to  which  he  had 
submitted  himself.  He  seemed  harder  and  more  self- 
reliant.  Lady  Brent  saw  at  the  first  glance  that  his  old 
temptation  had  not  troubled  him,  or  if  it  had  troubled 
him  that  he  had  got  the  better  of  it. 

Harry  drove  a  dogcart  to  the  station  to  meet  him. 
The  greeting  was  warm  between  them.  Wilbraham 
looked  him  up  and  down.  "  I  can't  say  they've  smart- 
ened you  up,"  he  said,  "  because  you  didn't  want  it.  But 
they've  turned  you  into  a  soldier.  I  hope  you  haven't 
forgotten  all  your  classics." 

Harry  laughed,  but  made  no  reply.  When  they  had 
driven  out  of  the  little  town  and  were  on  the  long  lonely 
country  road,  he  said :  "  I  wanted  to  see  you  first.  Of 
course  you'll  be  talking  me  over  with  Granny.  There 
are  some  things  I  don't  want  said." 

"  If  you  mean  about  Viola,"  said  Wilbraham  after  a 
pause.  "  I've  kept  my  own  counsel — and  yours — for 
nearly  two  years.  I've  never  been  quite  sure  that  I  was 

303 


304  SIR   HARRY 

right  to  do  it.  I  believe  it  might  have  been  better  for 
you  if  Lady  Brent  had  known.  But  at  any  rate,  I  have 
kept  silence,  and  it  isn't  my  affair  now.  It's  yours. 
I  quite  recognize  that." 

"  Have  you  seen  her?  " 

"Viola?  Since  you  came  home,  you  mean.  You 
know  that  I  saw  her  occasionally  before.  Yes,  I've  seen 
her.  Of  course  she  wants  you.  You're  going  up  next 
week,  aren't  you  ?  Have  you  arranged  that  here  ?  " 

"  Not  yet.  I  told  mother  that  I  should  be  going  to 
London,  but  I  haven't  said  when  yet." 

"  They  won't  like  it,  I  suppose.  You  won't  give  them 
any  reason  for  going.  They'll  think  you  just  want  to 
get  away  from  here  to  amuse  yourself  as  other  young 
men  do  who  are  home  on  leave." 

"  I'm  afraid  they  must  think  what  they  like.  I  hate 
all  this  secrecy — and  deception.  I  won't  deceive  them 
more  than  I  can  help.  They  must  let  me  go  my  own 
way,  and  not  ask  questions.  But  it's  deception  all  the 
same.  Why  did  you  let  me  in  for  it?  " 

"  Let  you  in  for  it  ?  I  let  you  in  for  it !  What  on 
earth  do  you  mean,  Harry?  " 

"  Not  you  chiefly.  But  you  were  in  it.  You  kept 
me  knowing  nothing.  Supposing  it  hadn't  been  Viola 
I  fell  in  love  with !  Oh,  I've  learnt  a  lot  since  you  and 
I  met  last.  I  know  what  men  are,  and  I'm  not  different 
from  others  at  bottom,  though  there's  miles  between  me 
and  them  in  some  ways.  It's  Viola  I  owe  everything  to — 
not  Granny  or  mother  or  you.  I  don't  know  how  I 
should  have  lived  through  it  if  it  hadn't  been  for  her. 


HOLIDAY  305 

I  should  have  lost  everything  that  I  was."  He  spoke 
more  slowly.  "  Viola  is  everything  in  the  world  to  me," 
he  said,  "  everything  in  this  world  or  the  next.  I  want 
you  to  understand  that.  I  loved  her  before,  but  I  love 
her  a  thousand  times  more,  now  that  I  know.  All  this — 
Royd,  and  Granny  and  mother — everything  that  it  all 
meant  to  me,  is  nothing  to  me  now,  apart  from  her. 
Whatever  there  is  that's  real  in  it — I  can't  explain  it, 
but  it's  as  if  she'd  have  to  give  it  back  to  me  before  I 
can  make  it  anything  again.  If  you  can  see  that,  then 
you  may  be  able  to  help  a  little.  Viola  is  to  come  first 
in  everything,  but  until  it's  all  straightened  out  I  want 
Granny — and  mother — to  be  as  little  troubled  about  me 
as  possible.  Make  it  look  natural  to  them,  my  going  to 
London ;  don't  let  them  think  that  I'm  tired  of  them,  or 
of  Royd.  I'm  not,  only  it's  all  very  little  to  me  beside 
Viola." 

"  I  think  you're  unjust  to  us,"  said  Wilbraham.  "  Say 
we  hadn't  prepared  you  for  what  you've  been  through — 
what  nobody  could  have  foreseen." 

"Oh,  it  would  have  been  just  the  same  if  I'd  gone 
straight  to  Sandhurst — perhaps  worse — if  I  hadn't 
known  Viola." 

"  Well,  that's  where  you're  unjust.  It  was  only  Viola 
— or  somebody  like  her — that  you  could  have  fallen  in 
love  with,  as  you  did.  We'd  done  that  for  you." 

Harry  thought  this  over.  Wilbraham  breathed  more 
freely  the  longer  his  silence  lasted.  He  recognized  with 
gratitude  that  old  sense  of  fairness  and  reasonableness 
which  had  never  been  absent  in  his  dealings  with  Harry. 


306  SIRHARRY 

"  It's  what  you  have  to  think  of  when  you  feel  inclined 
to  blame  your  grandmother,"  he  said. 

"  I  don't  think  I'm  inclined  to  blame  her,"  Harry 
answered  to  this.  "  I'm  very  sorry  for  her.  That's  why 
I  want  to  let  her  down  as  easily  as  I  can.  Afterwards 
everything  will  be  right  for  her,  and  she'll  see — she's 
quite  wise  enough — that  it  was  right  that  I  should  take 
my  life  into  my  own  hands.  That's  what  I'm  going  to 
do.  I  had  to  do  it  once  before." 

"  She  accepted  that,  you  know." 

"  Yes,  in  a  wonderful  way,  I  think.  And  she'll  accept 
Viola.  But  not  now.  I  should  have  to  ask  her  for 
Viola,  and  I'm  not  going  to  do  that.  Besides,  she's  got 
other  ideas  in  her  head  for  me." 

"  Lady  Sidney,  I  suppose  you  mean.  From  what  your 
mother  has  written,  you  seem  to  want  her  to  think  that 
her  wishes  are  being  carried  out." 

"  Sidney  and  I  understand  one  another.  She  knows 
about  Viola.  I'm  very  glad  she's  here.  I  couldn't  have 
stayed  here  without  her  and  little  Jane.  I  suppose  the 
beastly  world  would  say  that  I'm  just  amusing  myself 
with  a  pretty  girl,  as  I  can't  be  with  the  girl  I  love. 
They  might  even  think  there's  some  danger  in  it.  But 
the  world  doesn't  know  love  as  I  know  it."  He  turned 
to  Wilbraham  with  a  smile.  "  What  you  did,  my 
friend,  you  and  Granny  between  you,  was  to  unfit  me 
for  the  society  of  men.  After  being  with  nobody  but 
men  for  all  this  time,  I'm  glad  enough  to  have  two  girls 
as  my  friends  before  I  go  back  to  it.  As  for  Granny, 
she's  arranged  all  that  for  me,  as  she's  used  to  arrange 


HOLIDAY  307 

everything,  and  if  she's  disappointed  with  the  outcome 
of  it,  I'm  afraid  it  can't  be  helped.  It's  just  that  ar- 
ranging that  I  have  to  make  my  stand  against,  with  as 
little  bother  about  it  as  possible." 

"  I've  said  already,  and  I'll  say  it  again,  that  you're 
hard  on  Lady  Brent.  I  fully  believe  that  if  you  were 
to  tell  her  about  Viola — now — she'd  accept  it.  Then 
all  the  secrecy  you  say  you  hate  would  be  over." 

"  I  think  it's  quite  possible  that  she  might.  I  don't 
think  my  mother  would.  In  any  case,  there'd  be  ques- 
tions and  difficulties.  Viola  would  be  discussed  and 
reckoned  up  in  a  way  I  can't  bear  to  think  of.  When 
the  time  comes  I  shall  bring  Viola  here  and  say :  '  This 
is  the  girl  I  love,  and  she  loves  me,  though  I'm  not 
worth  anything  beside  her.'  Then  there'll  be  no  ques- 
tions and  no  difficulties,  and  Viola  will  take  her  place 
here,  and  we  shall  be  happy  for  the  rest  of  our 
lives." 

"  You  mean  that  she'll  take  Lady  Brent's  place  here, 
I  suppose.  It's  no  good  blinking  matters." 

Harry  laughed  at  him.  "  You  always  were  a  per- 
sistent old  thing,"  he  said,  "  but  I'm  very  glad  to  see 
you  again.  Tell  me  about  Viola,  and  what  she  said 
to  you." 

Wilbraham  found  himself,  somewhat  to  his  surprise 
in  spite  of  the  preparation  he  had  had,  in  an  atmosphere 
of  serenity,  and  almost  of  gaiety.  There  had  been  noth- 
ing like  it  in  all  the  years  he  had  lived  at  Royd  Castle. 
He  told  himself  that  unless  he  had  known  how  it  was 
with  Harry  he  would  certainly  have  thought  that  the 


308  SIRHARRY 

pleasure  he  obviously  took  in  Sidney's  society  was  lead- 
ing to  something  else.  The  Grants  were  there  when  he 
arrived.  It  was  a  little  intimate  friendly  happy  party 
of  which  no  single  member  seemed  to  have  a  care  upon 
his  or  her  shoulders.  Only  Mrs.  Brent  seemed  rather 
out  of  the  stream.  Wilbraham  saw  that  he  would  be 
invited  on  the  first  opportunity  to  listen  to  the  tale  of 
Mrs.  Brent's  dissatisfaction. 

It  was  Grant,  however,  to  whom  he  first  talked  alone, 
walking  in  the  garden.  Grant  could  see  nothing  on  the 
horizon  but  a  prospective  marriage  between  Sir  Harry 
Brent  and  Lady  Sidney  Pawle,  which  appeared  to  him 
eminently  as  one  that  should  give  satisfaction  to  all 
parties  concerned. 

"  Of  course  they  won't  want  to  be  married  yet 
awhile,"  he  said,  "  but  we're  expecting  an  engagement 
any  day.  I  must  say  that  it  has  all  turned  out  in  a 
most  extraordinarily  satisfactory  way.  Supposing  the 
boy  had  done  what  his  father  did!  He'd  seen  nobody 
here ;  he  might  very  well  have  got  taken  in  by  somebody 
who  wouldn't  have  been  the  right  sort  of  person  for  him 
to  marry  when  he  cut  himself  loose.  And  there  was  just 
the  chance  of  this  one  girl  being  here  when  he  came  home. 
One  is  inclined  to  think  of  Lady  Brent  managing  every- 
thing, but  she  didn't  actually  manage  that.  It  just 
came  about." 

Wilbraham  listened  to  all  this,  his  own  thoughts  run- 
ning all  the  time.  Sidney  and  Jane  and  Harry  were  in 
another  part  of  the  garden,  out  of  sight,  but  not  out 
of  hearing.  A  burst  of  laughter  punctuated  the  close 


HOLIDAY  309 

of  the  Vicar's  speech.  "  Wouldn't  they  want  to  get 
away  by  themselves  if  it's  as  you  think?  "  Wilbraham 
asked. 

"  Ah,  my  boy,  you  don't  recognize  the  march  of  the 
great  passion,"  said  Grant.  "  I've  loved  watching  those 
three  together,  because  it  is  all  going  as  I  should  have 
expected." 

"  Copy  in  it,"  suggested  Wilbraham. 

"  Well,  that's  your  way  of  putting  it.  But  of  course 
one  takes  in  everything  that  passes  before  one's  eyes, 
and  if  it  doesn't  come  out  exactly  like  it,  it's 

"  Near  enough  to  look  like  it.  Well,  I  suppose  you've 
made  a  study  of  it,  and  all  the  old  women  who  read  your 
immortal  works  will  shiver  down  their  spines  and  say, 
*  It  was  just  like  that  with  me.'  But  I'd  rather  take 
Jane's  opinion  about  it  than  yours." 

"Would  you?  Well,  Jane's  having  the  time  of  her 
life.  They're  awfully  nice  to  her.  Of  course  they're 
just  in  the  state  when  it's  gratifying  to  have  somebody 
like  Jane  with  them,  who  thinks  there  never  was  any- 
body like  either  of  them.  They  flatter  each  other 
through  her." 

"Oh,  that's  how  it's  going  to  be  worked  out,  is  it? 
The  old  women  will  love  that.  It's  a  new  touch,  and 
they'll  wish  they'd  thought  of  it  for  themselves,  in  time. 
Did  Jane  tell  you  it  was  like  that,  or  was  it  your  own 
mighty  brain  ?  " 

"  You're  jealous  of  my  success,  Wilbraham.  But  I 
don't  mind  your  jibes.  I  don't  write  for  the  highbrows 
like  you,  and  I  do  touch  the  hearts  of  thousands.  Jane 


310  SIRHARRY 

talks  to  her  mother.  I  shouldn't  expect  her  to  talk  to 
me  about  it." 

"  Well,  what  does  Mrs.  Grant  say  ?  She's  got  some 
sense." 

"  She  keeps  rather  quiet  about  it.  I  think  she's  just 
thankful  that  Harry  has  somebody  to  keep  him  bright 
and  cheerful  while  he's  at  home.  You  made  a  mistake, 
you  know,  before,  in  not  letting  him  have  young  people 
to  play  with." 

"  He  had  your  two." 

"  As  it  happened,  yes.  But  they  were  only  children. 
Jane  is  older  now,  but  not  old  enough,  fortunately,  to 
have  the  danger  of  complications.  Apart  altogether 
from  the  question  of  a  love  affair  with  Lady  Sidney,  I 
believe  it's  the  best  thing  that  could  happen  for  him  to 
have  those  two  with  him  while  he's  here.  It's  an  awful 
welter  of  blood  and  horror  out  there,  you  know,  Wilbra- 
ham.  None  of  the  young  fellows  who  come  home  talk 
much  about  it,  but  it  doesn't  need  much  imagination  to 
see  what  a  healing  process  it  is  for  anybody  like  Harry 
to  spend  a  few  weeks  with  people  like  those  two  girls 
as  his  chief  companions,  in  a  quiet  lovely  place  like 
this." 

"  Now  you're  talking  sense  yourself  for  a  change. 
Here's  Mrs.  Brent  coming.  Don't  leave  me  alone  with 
her.  It's  an  awful  welter  of  red  tape  and  incompetence 
where  I've  just  come  from,  but  I  don't  want  her  as  a 
healing  process  till  I  feel  a  little  stronger." 

But  the  Grants  had  to  be  going  very  shortly,  and 
Mrs.  Brent  was  not  to  be  denied. 


HOLIDAY  311 

Her  first  address  to  Wilbraham,  however,  was  not  on 
the  subject  of  her  grievances.  "  Oh,  I  forgot  to  tell 
you  when  I  wrote,"  she  said.  "  You  know  that  artist — 
Bastian — who  came  down  here  two  summers  ago?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Wilbraham,  with  his  heart  in  his  mouth. 

"  Well,  I've  found  out  that  he  married  a  great  friend 
of  mine — oh,  years  ago,  but  I  hadn't  forgotten  her.  She 
died,  poor  girl,  but  of  course  the  daughter  who  was  with 
Mr.  Bastian  here  was  hers.  I  wish  I'd  known.  I'd 
have  gone  to  see  them." 

"  You  wouldn't  have  wanted  to  bring  that  time  up, 
would  you?  "  said  Wilbraham,  scarcely  knowing  what 
to  say. 

She  was  all  bristles  at  once.  "  I  think  I  was  very 
badly  treated  about  all  that,"  she  said.  "  I'd  nothing 
whatever  to  be  ashamed  of  in  what  I  came  from,  and  all 
the  time  it  was  made  to  look  as  if  I  had.  I  half  believed 
it  myself,  but  now  I  know  better.  Every  one  of  my 
family  is  doing  well.  They're  not  in  the  position  I'm 
in,  of  course,  but  there's  no  need  to  be  ashamed  of  any 
of  them.  In  fact,  I've  made  up  my  mind  to  introduce 
Harry  to  his  relations  on  my  side  of  the  family.  I'm 
going  to  ask  him  to  take  me  up  to  London  before  he  goes 
back.  Then  he'll  see  for  himself." 

"Do  you  think  you're  wise?"  said  Wilbraham,  re- 
lieved at  having  got  away  from  the  subject  of  the  Bas- 
tians. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  she  asked.  "What's  the 
objection?  " 

"  Well,  you  say  they're  not  equal  to  you.     They  may 


312  SIRHARRY 

be  very  good  sort  of  people;  I  dare  say  they  are;  but 
what's  the  sense  of  dragging  them  in  at  this  time  of  the 
day — after  twenty  years — to  mark  the  difference?  " 

"What  difference?" 

"  Well,  the  difference  between  them  and  Lady  Brent." 

"Lady  Brent!     How  can  you  talk  like  that?     It's 
just  that  I'm  so  mad  with  Lady  Brent  that  I ' 

"  I  know  it  is.  All  you  can  think  of  is  to  score  off 
her.  You're  not  thinking  of  Harry ;  you're  not  even 
thinking  of  yourself.  What  are  you  going  to  get,  out 
of  going  back  on  everything  you've  stood  for  for  the 
last  twenty  years?  Harry  thinks  of  you  as  belonging 
to  Royd,  in  the  same  sort  of  way  as  Lady  Brent  does. 
Why  should  he  have  ever  thought  of  you  as  anything 
different?  Now  you're  proposing  to  show  him  the  dif- 
ference. You  say  yourself  they  are  different.  You're 
going  to  show  him  the  difference  between  Lady  Brent 
and  them.  Which  is  likely  to  come  out  of  it  best?  I 
don't  know ;  I'm  asking  you." 

"  Oh,  you're  just  trying  to  aggravate  me,"  she  said. 
"  You  always  were  like  that.  I  don't  know  why  I  talk 
to  you  at  all." 

"  Well,  if  you've  finished,  I  think  I'll  go  in.  I  want 
a  peaceful  time  as  long  as  I'm  here.  You're  the  only 
person  who  doesn't  seem  to  be  comfortable  and  happy. 
I'd  rather  be  with  those  of  them  who  are." 

"  I'm  not  at  all  happy.  I'm  just  miserable.  Harry 
doesn't  love  me  any  more,  and  I  don't  know  what  to  do 
about  it." 

They  had  come  to  the  bowling  alley  where  Wilbra- 


HOLIDAY  313 

ham  had  thought  out  his  difficulties  two  summers  before. 
She  sank  down  on  to  the  seat  and  cried. 

Wilbraham  felt  very  sorry  for  her,  but  determined  to 
prevent  her  from  making  mischief  if  he  could.  "  Look 
here,"  he  said,  "  I  don't  think  it  really  much  matters 
whether  you  introduce  Harry  to  your  people  or  not. 
He's  grown  up  now,  and  all  that  idea  of  keeping  things 
from  him  is  over.  Do  what  you  like  about  it.  Lady 
Brent  won't  try  to  stop  you ;  I'm  pretty  certain  of  that. 
She  has  given  up  trying  to  direct  his  life.  Why  can't 
you?" 

Her  sobs  increased.  "  I'm  his  mother,"  she  said. 
"  I've  had  so  little  of  him.  I  can't  give  him  up  now." 

"  You  had  him  during  the  whole  of  his  childhood, 
more  than  most  mothers  have  their  sons.  Lady  Brent 
may  have  been  a  bit  jealous  of  you ;  I  dare  say  she  was ; 
she's  got  her  weaknesses  like  all  the  rest  of  us.  But 
she  didn't  try  to  get  him  away  from  you.  I  was  here 
most  of  the  time,  and  I  could  see  that  plainly  enough. 
You  know  it  too.  You'll  be  much  happier  about  things 
if  you  try  to  be  fair  to  her,  as  she's  tried  to  be  fair 
to  you." 

"  Oh,  of  course  it's  her  you're  thinking  ;  £  all  the  time. 
I  don't  come  in  at  all." 

"  Yes,  you  do  come  in.  I'm  trying  to  help  you  to 
get  things  straight.  The  fact  is  your  nose  has  been  put 
out  of  joint  by  this  girl  who's  here.  It  isn't  Lady  Brent 
at  all,  though  you  heap  it  all  back  on  her.  You  can't 
expect  a  boy  of  Harry's  age  to  go  about  tied  to  his 
mother's  apron  strings,  when  there's  somebody  young 


314  SIRHARRY 

for  him  to  play  with.  You  like  the  girl  all  right,  don't 
you?" 

She  had  dried  her  eyes  and  sat  leaning  forward  in  an 
attitude  of  picturesque  misery.  "  It  doesn't  seem  to 
matter  whether  I  like  her  or  not,"  she  said.  "  Harry 
won't  talk  to  me  about  her.  If  he  told  me  he  was  in 
love  with  her  I  should  do  my  best  to  sympathize  with 
him.  I  want  to  be  everything  to  my  son." 

"  Of  course  you  do ;  and  of  course  you  can't  be.  If 
he  hasn't  told  you  he's  in  love  with  her,  it's  because  he 
isn't.  For  goodness'  sake  let  him  be  happy  while  he's 
here,  and  in  his  own  way.  He'll  be  going  back  soon 
enough,  and  you  won't  want  him  to  think  of  his  holiday 
spoiled  by  your  complaints.  You're  selfish,  you  know. 
It's  yourself  you're  thinking  of  all  the  time,  not  him. 
You  used  not  to  be  like  that." 

"  Oh,  well,"  she  said,  rising,  "  I  suppose  I  must  put 
up  with  it.  It's  the  common  lot  of  mothers.  I  shan't 
talk  about  it  any  more,  to  you  or  anybody." 

"  That's  right,"  said  Wilbraham,  as  they  strolled 
towards  the  house.  "  And  don't  make  complaints  to 
Harry,  either.  It's  not  the  way  to  get  what  you  want 
from  him.  Cr  course  you  know  that  really,  as  well  as 
I  do.  Only  it's  difficult,  isn't  it?  " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  she  said.  With  the  end  of  her 
emotion  she  seemed  to  have  entered  a  mood  almost  of 
indifference.  "  If  I've  stood  what  I  have  all  these  years, 
and  kept  myself  under  as  I  have,  I  suppose  I  can  go  on 
doing  it.  It's  coming  down  here  that  has  upset  me. 
I've  been  happy  enough  in  London.  Of  course  I've 


HOLIDAY  315 

wanted  to  hear  about  Harry,  but  he's  promised  me  now 
that  he'll  write  to  me  regularly.  I  shall  be  better  off, 
in  a  way,  than  I've  ever  been.  I'm  somebody  there,  you 
see.  Here  I'm  nobody.  I  shan't  stay  here  a  moment 
longer  than  Harry  does.  I  hate  the  place  now.  Why 
have  you  never  been  to  see  me  in  London  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  that  you've  ever  asked  me.  Where  do 
you  live  ?  " 

She  told  him.  She  was  sharing  a  flat  with  an  old 
friend,  a  woman  who  had  been  on  the  stage  with  her, 
had  had  an  unhappy  married  life,  but  had  got  on  in  her 
profession. 

"Margaret  Greedy?"  said  Wilbraham.  "I've  seen 
her  act.  She's  very  good." 

"  Yes,  you  wouldn't  have  thought  she  began  in  the 
chorus,  would  you?  She  never  had  much  voice,  which 
was  perhaps  just  as  well  for  her,  or  she'd  have  been  in 
musical  comedy  still.  She  doesn't  like  it  remembered, 
and  of  course  I  don't  want  it  known  either ;  but  we  often 
talk  over  old  times.  It  was  from  her,  by  the  by,  that 
I  heard  about  Mrs.  Bastian.  She  married  a  gentleman, 
like  I  did;  but  he'd  come  down  in  the  world.  Bastian 
isn't  his  real  name,  you  know.". 

"  What  is  his  real  name?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  I  meant  to  find  out  about  him,  and 
go  and  see  what  the  girl  is  like.  You  never  told  me  much 
about  her,  but  if  she's  like  her  mother  she  ought  to  be 
very  pretty." 

"  She  is  very  pretty,  but ' 

"  Oh,  you  mean  I  ought  not  to  let  them  know  who  I 


316  SIRHARRY 

was,  as  they've  been  here.  Perhaps  I  shan't.  I  don't 
want  to  give  her  any  handles  against  me." 

"  By  her  I  suppose  you  mean  Lady  Brent.  Every- 
thing comes  back  to  her.  You'll  think  better  of  all  that 
some  day.  I  wish  you'd  think  better  of  it  now.  Royd 
would  be  a  less  prickly  house  to  live  in." 

"  Oh,  I  shall  behave  myself,  never  you  fear,"  she  said 
as  she  left  him. 

He  thought  it  probable  that  she  would.  He  had  made 
an  impression  on  her,  though  she  was  not  of  the  sort 
that  would  acknowledge  it.  She  was  evidently  making 
her  own  life,  and  even  if  she  had  dropped  all  pretence  of 
war  work,  for  which  she  had  gone  to  London,  it  was 
not  a  life  that  would  let  the  name  of  Brent  down,  as  he 
had  rather  feared.  Margaret  Greedy  was  an  actress 
of  some  distinction,  and  would  be  very  careful  not  to 
jeopardize  the  social  position  she  had  won  for  herself. 
And  Mrs.  Brent,  for  all  her  independent  talk,  was 
guided  by  a  sense  of  her  own  importance  in  the  world. 
Probably  the  joint  establishment  was  as  rigidly  respect- 
able as  any  in  London. 

As  for  possible  complications  with  the  Bastians,  Wil- 
braham  could  do  nothing.  If  the  revelation  came  in 
that  way,  it  must  come,  and  for  himself  he  didn't  care 
when  it  came.  He  was  tired  of  all  the  secrecy,  and 
thought  too  that  Harry  was  wrong  in  keeping  his 
secret ;  or,  at  any  rate,  right  or  wrong  in  being  unwilling 
to  disclose  it  himself,  that  it  would  be  better  for  him 
if  it  were  known. 

He  was  inclined  to  dread  the  talk  that  he  saw  coming 


HOLIDAY  317 

with  Lady  Brent.  He  badly  wanted  a  recreative  rest 
himself,  and  hated  the  idea  of  exercising  his  brain  in 
steering  clear  of  admissions  to  her,  hated  also  the  idea 
of  deceiving  her  by  doing  so,  when  all  the  time  he  was 
in  sympathy  with  her  in  her  doubts  and  disappoint- 
ments. What  was  done  was  done.  Harry  was  what  he 
was,  and  if  she  had  made  any  mistake  in  his  upbringing, 
which  he  did  not  admit,  it  would  do  no  good  now  to  dwell 
on  it  with  regret.  Harry  was  working  it  all  out  for 
himself,  and  as  far  as  Wilbraham  could  see,  was  not 
making  such  a  bad  job  of  it.  He  would  tell  her  that, 
when  she  began  to  discuss  him,  and  cut  the  conversation 
as  short  as  he  conveniently  could.  Then  he  would  be 
free  to  enjoy  himself,  in  the  company  of  the  people  he 
liked  best  in  the  world,  and  in  the  place  which  seemed 
to  him,  coming  back  to  it,  a  haven  of  peace  and  beauty. 

But  apparently  that  was  all  that  Lady  Brent  wanted 
of  him.  She  told  him  that  Harry  seemed  much  more 
his  old  self  now  that  he  had  been  home  a  week  or  more, 
and  that  she  was.  glad  that  there  was  young  companion- 
ship for  him,  and  beyond  that  she  did  not  discuss  him 
at  all. 

So  Wilbraham  enjoyed  his  two  days  at  Royd,  and 
went  back  to  his  work  greatly  refreshed,  and  with  most 
of  his  doubts  about  Harry  set  at  rest.  He  might  be 
longing  for  Viola  all  the  time,  as  he  had  said  he  was, 
but  he  managed  to  hide  it  effectually  and  seemed  to  be 
enjoying  his  holiday  as  much  as  anybody. 


CHAPTER   XXV 

MRS.    BRENT    KNOWS 

ROYD  CASTLE  was  empty,  except  for  the  servants,  for 
the  first  time  for  twenty  years.  Everybody  had  gone 
away,  including  Lady  Brent,  who,  however,  was  not  very 
far  off,  for  she  was  only  visiting  Lady  Avalon  for  a 
few  days  at  Poldaven. 

To  the  Grants,  left  to  themselves,  after  the  unusual 
amount  of  society  they  had  lately  enjoyed,  there  was  a 
sense  of  emptiness,  though  their  own  summer  life  was  in 
full  swing,  and  the  Vicar  had  a  bright  new  idea  for  a 
novel,  which  was  keeping  his  thoughts  happily  employed. 
There  were  to  be  a  young  man  and  two  girls,  and  nobody 
was  to  know  which  of  the  girls  the  young  man  was  really 
in  love  with  until  the  last  chapter. 

"  Of  course  I  got  the  idea  from  those  three,"  he  told 
his  wife,  "  although  it  couldn't  be  exactly  like  them. 
Harry  and  Sidney  might  be,  but  the  second  girl  would 
have  to  be  older  than  Jane,  but  still  rather  young.  She 
would  be  a  sort  of  confidante  of  the  other  two,  who 
would  be  inclined  to  fall  in  love  with  one  another.  Then 
she  would  gradually  find  that  she  was  in  love  with  the 
young  man  herself.  I  should  make  it  rather  pathetic, 
but  not  overdo  it,  of  course.  She  would  keep  her  feelings 
to  herself,  out  of  loyalty  to  her  friend.  I  haven't  quite 

318 


MRS.    BRENT    KNOWS  3\9 

worked  it  out  yet,  but  the  reality  would  come  in  a  flash. 
The  young  man  would  find  that  it  was  she  he  was  in 
love  with.  I  shouldn't  be  able  to  leave  the  other  girl  in 
the  air.  There  might  be  somebody  else  for  her.  It  will 
come  all  right,  now  my  brain  has  begun  to  work  on  it. 
I  should  have  to  make  her  very  charming,  so  that  it 
would  seem  as  if  the  man  must  be  in  love  with  her." 

"  You  mustn't  make  it  too  like  Harry  and  Sidney," 
said  Mrs.  Grant. 

"  Oh,  I  should  be  careful  about  that,  though  their 
way  with  each  other  has  been  very  attractive  to  watch. 
They're  so  frank,  and  so  completely  friendly — a  very 
delightful  pair  of  young  people  I  call  them.  It  would 
be  much  more  effective  to  have  young  lovers  behaving 
like  that  to  one  another  than  the  usual  sort  of  love  affair 
that  one  meets  with  in  fiction.  The  odd  thing  about  it, 
though,  is  that  they  have  parted  now  and  nothing  has 
come  of  it  all." 

Mrs.  Grant  laughed.  "  Perhaps  it's  because  they 
weren't  lovers  after  all,"  she  said,  "  and  were  so  frank 
and  friendly  with  each  other  because  they  weren't.  You 
must  be  careful  about  that,  David." 

But  he  would  not  admit  that  Harry  and  Sidney 
weren't  in  love  with  one  another.  It  was  clear  for 
everybody  to  see.  Of  course  Harry  was  rather  an  ex- 
ceptional young  man.  That  was  plain  from  the  way  he 
had  come  back  to  Royd  as  if  he  were  master  there 
already.  There  was  tremendous  strength  of  character 
in  him,  and  even  Lady  Brent  recognized  it,  and  did  not 
seek  to  direct  him  in  any  way.  It  was  very  likely  that 


320  SIRHARRY 

he  had  made  up  his  mind  that  it  would  not  be  right  to 
engage  himself  to  Sidney  until  the  war  was  over.  But 
it  was  also  likely  that  they  had  an  understanding  be- 
tween themselves.  It  could  hardly  be  otherwise. 

"  He  has  certainly  altered,"  said  Mrs.  Grant.  "  He 
goes  his  own  way  as  one  would  hardly  have  expected  of 
him  in  some  respects.  I  don't  know  why  he  should  have 
wanted  to  be  with  Mr.  Wilbraham  for  a  week  before  he 
went  to  France.  Poor  Mrs.  Brent  was  rather  sad  about 
it,  especially  when  he  wrote  to  say  that  he  was  not  com- 
ing down  again." 

"  And  now  she's  gone  posting  up  to  London  to  get 
hold  of  him.  I've  no  patience  with  Mrs.  Brent.  She 
has  greatly  deteriorated.  Well,  I  must  be  getting  on 
with  my  work.  I  shall  very  soon  be  ready  to  make  a 
start  on  the  first  chapter." 

Jane  had  been  very  subdued  in  demeanour  since  Sid- 
ney and  Harry  had  both  departed,  and  frequently 
sought  her  mother's  company.  She  came  to  her  this 
morning,  when  her  lessons  were  done,  and  sat  with  her 
in  the  garden  as  she  worked. 

"  Did  father  say  that  there  was  going  to  be  a  great 
attack  on  the  Germans  soon?  "  she  asked,  after  a  little 
desultory  conversation. 

"  It  has  been  expected  for  some  time.  I  suppose  it 
can't  be  long  before  it  comes  now." 

"  I  suppose  that's  why  Harry's  leave  has  been  cut 
short.  Will  there  be  a  great  many  of  our  people  killed, 
mother?  " 

"  I'm  afraid  so,  dear." 


MRS.    BRENT    KNOWS  321 

"  Harry  might  be,"  said  Jane.     "  He's  very  brave." 

"  You  mustn't  let  yourself  dwell  on  that,  darling.  He 
has  been  spared  so  far." 

"  Did  you  know  he  had  been  wounded?  " 

Mrs.  Grant  looked  at  her  in  surprise.  "  Not 
seriously,"  she  said. 

"  Sidney  and  I  both  think  he  was,  though  he  wouldn't 
tell  us,  and  said  we  weren't  to  talk  about  it.  Have  you 
noticed  he  always  keeps  his  sleeve  buttoned  when  he's 
playing  tennis?  " 

Mrs.  Grant  hadn't  noticed  particularly,  but  said  that 
she  remembered  now  that  he  did. 

Well,  he's  got  an  awful  great  scar  in  his  arm.  We 
saw  it  once  by  accident.  A  Turk  did  it  with  a  bayonet. 
When  we  found  out,  he  did  tell  us  a  little,  and  about  the 
time  he  was  in  hospital.  He  told  us  about  an  orderly 
who  had  been  frightfully  good  to  him,  and  said  he  saved 
his  life  when  he  was  very  ill,  by  nursing  him  all  the  time. 
He  liked  to  talk  about  him ;  his  name  was  Tom  Weller. 
Sidney  thought  he  couldn't  have  been  so  ill  just  from 
a  wound  in  the  arm,  and  then  he  said  he'd  had  a  little 
shell  wound  in  the  body,  but  he  wouldn't  tell  us  any 
more.  We  think  it  must  have  been  a  serious  one.  We 
found  out  afterwards  that  he  didn't  go  to  hospital  for 
his  bayonet  wound  at  all." 

Mrs.  Grant  was  conscious  of  a  feeling  of  surprise  and 
some  discomfort.  She  knew  that  Harry  was  not  likely 
to  fail  in  any  of  a  young  man's  courageous  work,  and 
yet  she  had  thought  of  him  as  having  got  off  lightly, 
except  in  the  hardships  of  a  trooper's  life.  And  that  he 


322  SIRHARRY 

had  never  mentioned  even  the  actions  in  which  he  had 
been  wounded  seemed  so  to  accentuate  the  division  that 
he  had  made  between  himself  and  those  who  loved  him. 
He  might  have  died  and  they  would  have  known  nothing. 
Apparently  he  had  been  very  near  to  death.  She  won- 
dered whether  Jane  had  any  theory  to  account  for  his 
unusual  reticence  about  himself. 

"  I'm  very  glad  Lady  Brent  will  hear  about  him  now," 
she  said.  "  It's  dreadful  to  think  what  might  have  hap- 
pened when  they  couldn't  have  got  to  him." 

"  Well,  the}7  couldn't,  anyhow,  when  he  was  in  Egypt. 
He  says  it  was  much  better  that  they  shouldn't  have 
been  anxious  about  him,  and  as  it  turned  out  there  was 
no  need  to  have  been  anxious.  I  must  say  I'm  rather 
glad  we  didn't  know,  though  it's  horrid  to  think  of  our 
enjoying  ourselves  at  home  when  Harry  was  nearly 
dying.  Sidney  and  I  both  told  him  that  we  wanted  to 
know  everything  about  him  now,  and  he  promised 
to." 

"To  write  to  you?" 

"  Yes ;  or  to  let  us  have  a  message.  You  see  we're  real 
friends,  mother  dear.  We've  had  a  lovely  time  together 
and  enjoyed  ourselves  frightfully;  but  it  hasn't  been 
quite  all  enjoying  ourselves.  Sidney  and  I  both  know 
that  Harry  dreads  things.  I  don't  mean  being  wounded, 
or  anything  like  that.  But  everything  is  so  different 
for  him.  What  we  both  got  to  know  was  that  he  wanted 
it  to  be  like  it  used  to  be  here  as  much  as  ever  it  could 
be.  That's  why  he  won't  talk  about  the  war.  We  could 
make  him  forget  it ;  so  we  were  sometimes  more  lively 


MRS.    BRENT    KNOWS  323 

than  we  really  felt.  I'm  sure  I  don't  feel  at  all  lively 
now." 

Her  mother  stole  a  glance  at  her,  as  she  sat  with  a 
calm  face  looking  out  in  front  of  her. 

"  Well,  darling,"  she  said,  "  you'll  have  Harry  home 
on  leave  again.  I'm  sure  both  you  and  Sidney  have  done 
a  lot  for  him  since  he's  been  home  this  time.  There  was 
a  sort  of  strain  on  him  at  first  which  wasn't  there  after- 
wards." 

"  Did  you  notice  that  ?  I'm  very  glad.  Of  course 
Sidney  did  more  than  I  did.  She  was  with  him  more, 
and  she's  older.  But  they  were  both  very  sweet  to  me. 
I  think  I  did  help.  I  love  them  both.  I  love  Sidney. 
I  wish " 

She  broke  off  abruptly.  "  I  think  I  can  guess  what 
Sidney's  secret  is,"  said  her  mother,  after  a  pause.  "  I 
think  she  meant  me  to,  you  know,  when  she  told  you  you 
could  tell  me  that  there  was  a  secret." 

Jane  looked  at  her  eagerly.  "  I  don't  suppose  she 
really  meant  me  not  to  tell  you,"  she  said. 

"  If  I've  found  it  out  for  myself,  she  wouldn't  mind 
you  talking  about  it.  I  shouldn't  mention  it  to  any- 
body else.  I  thought,  when  you  told  me,  that  perhaps 
she  was  in  love  with  somebody,  and  that  was  why  you 
and  she  and  Harry  could  all  be  friends  together  so 
happily." 

Jane  breathed  a  sigh  of  relief.  "  Yes,  that's  it 
exactly,"  she  said.  "  How  clever  you  are,  mother !  I'm 
glad  you  knew.  His  name  is  Noel  Chancellor.  I've  seen 
his  photograph.  He  is  very  good-looking,  but  of  course 


324  SIRHARRY 

not  so  good-looking  as  Harry.  I  can't  help  thinking 
that  if  she'd  never  seen  him  she  would  be  in  love  with 
Harry." 

"  Perhaps.  But  it  doesn't  always  come  like  that. 
And  he's  not  in  love  with  her,  you  see,  though  there's 
nobody  else,  for  him." 

"  No,  he  isn't."  Jane  spoke  very  decisively.  "  She's 
such  a  dear  that  I  did  think  once  that  he  might  have 
been  a  little,  although  he  knew  about  Noel,  without  being 
able  to  help  it.  But  he's  not  the  least  little  bit.  I  don't 
know  how  I  know  that,  but  I  do." 

"  I  suppose  you  know  that  they  think  he  is,  at  the 
Castle." 

"  Oh,  yes.  And  Lady  Avalon  will  be  annoyed  when 
she  finds  out.  But  we  can't  help  that." 

Mrs.  Grant  smiled.  She  loved  that  "  we  "  that  came 
into  Jane's  speech.  "What  about  Lady  Brent?"  she 
said.  "  You  were  such  friends  with  Lady  Brent  before 
Harry  came  home." 

"  I  am  still.  Of  course  she  wouldn't  say  anything  to 
me  about  that.  I'm  not  quite  sure  that  she  does  expect 
it.  At  any  rate,  I  know  she  was  glad  for  me  to  be 
with  them.  She  knew  all  right  that  we  were  helping 
Harry.  Lady  Brent  sees  a  lot,  though  she  doesn't  talk 
much." 

Mrs.  Grant  found  food  for  thought  in  this,  and  shared 
it  later  with  Miss  Minster.  Neither  of  them  had  ever 
been  able  to  make  up  their  minds  finally  about  Lady 
Brent. 

"  Supposing  she  doesn't  really  expect  anything  to 


MRS.    BRENT    KNOWS  325 

come  of  it !  "  she  said.  "  I'm  inclined  to  trust  Jane 
when  she  thinks  that  she  doesn't." 

"  I've  liked  her  much  better  since  she  took  Jane  into 
her  confidence,"  said  Miss  Minster.  "  I'm  sorry  for  her 
now.  I  think  she  lays  her  plans  deeply  and  then  has  to 
sit  and  do  nothing  while  she  sees  them  fail.  But  it  needs 
a  lot  o£  self-restraint  to  sit  and  do  nothing.  Yes,  I'm 
sorry  for  her." 

"  You  think  Jane  is  right  then  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  Lady  Brent  would  look  farther  than 
most  people.  She  wouldn't  need  to  look  much  farther 
than  I  do  in  this.  What  I  think  is  that  Harry  isn't 
ready  for  it  yet,  and  won't  be  till  the  war  is  over.  When 
that  oppression  is  removed  from  him  I  think  he's  quite 
likely  to  fall  in  love  with  Lady  Sidney.  That's  what  I 
think,  and  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  Lady  Brent  thought 
the  same.  Then  it  wouldn't  make  her  quite  so  super- 
human as  she  appears.  She'd  just  be  waiting." 

This  view  could  not  be  combated  without  disclosures. 
As  far  as  it  affected  Lady  Brent  it  seemed  to  be  the 
best  explanation  of  her  attitude.  "  Anyhow  she's  a 
wonderful  woman,"  said  Mrs.  Grant,  "  and  I  also  like 
her  better  than  I  did,  although  I  never  disliked  her." 

"  The  person  I  don't  like  so  well,"  said  Miss  Minster, 
"  is  Mrs.  Brent.  I  hope  we've  seen  the  last  of  her  here 
for  the  present." 

But  they  had  not,  for  almost  immediately  she  had 
spoken  a  telegram  was  brought  in  from  Mrs.  Brent, 
announcing  her  arrival  that  afternoon,  and  asking  Mrs. 
Grant  to  take  her  in,  as  there  was  nobody  at  the  Castle. 


326  SIRHARRY 

She  also  asked  Mrs.  Grant  to  meet  her  at  Burport, 
which  seemed  to  indicate  that  she  had  something  of  im- 
portance to  disclose  to  her. 

She  looked  scared  and  unhappy  as  she  greeted  her 
friend  on  the  platform.  "  I  hope  you  didn't  mind  my 
asking  you  to  put  me  up,"  she  said.  "  I  believe  she's 
coming  back  to-morrow,  and  I  wanted  to  have  a  long 
talk  with  you  first." 

By  "  she  "  Mrs.  Grant  understood  her  to  refer  to 
Lady  Brent,  whom  she  seldom  referred  to  in  any  other 
way.  "  I'm  very  glad  to  have  you,"  she  said.  "  I  hope 
nothing  is  wrong.  Have  you  seen  Harry?  " 

"  I'll  tell  you  when  we  get  into  the  carriage." 

When  they  were  settled  and  driving  away,  she  said: 
"  Have  I  seen  Harry?  I  think  you'll  be  surprised  when 
I  tell  you  how  and  where  I've  seen  him.  I've  never  had 
such  a  shock  in  my  life.  I  don't  know  what  to  do  about 
it.  I  had  to  come  straight  down  to  see  her.  She  must 
deal  with  it.  I  can't;  it's  beyond  me.  I  only  hope  it 
won't  be  beyond  her.  I  must  tell  you  all  from  the 
beginning." 

She  entered  into  a  long  explanation  of  how  she  had 
written  to  Harry  at  Wilbraham's  flat  where  he  was  stay- 
ing. He  had  come  to  see  her,  and  had  been  kind  but 
had  seemed  annoyed  with  her  for  coming  up  to  London 
when  he  had  not  expected  it.  He  had  told  her  that  he 
was  very  much  engaged,  and  could  not  see  much  of  her 
before  he  went  abroad.  He  had  not  vouchsafed  any  ac- 
count of  how  he  was  engaged,  but  had  come  to  see  her 
once  again,  in  the  morning,  but  had  refused  to  stay  to 


MRS.    BRENT    KNOWS  327 

lunch  or  to  make  any  engagement  for  the  evening.  She 
spoke  with  some  resentment,  and  not  as  she  had  ever 
spoken  about  Harry  before.  It  was  as  if  she  felt  more 
annoyed  at  being  neglected  than  sorry  at  not  having 
him  with  her. 

Mrs.  Grant  sat  silent,  and  she  entered  on  another  long 
explanation  about  the  Bastians,  and  her  early  friendship 
with  Bastian's  wife.  Then  Mrs.  Grant  began  to  be  ex- 
tremely interested. 

"  What  possessed  me  to  find  out  all  about  them  just 
at  this  time,  and  go  to  see  the  girl,  I  can't  think,"  she 
said.  "  I  think  it  was  Providence  leading  me.  I'd  for- 
gotten all  about  Mrs.  Clark,  the  woman  they  lodge  with, 
being  Mrs.  Ivimey's  sister,  and  fortunately — or  unfortu- 
nately— she  didn't  open  the  door  to  me.  The  maid  said 
she  was  in,  but  had  a  young  gentleman  with  her.  She 
looked  rather  knowing  as  she  said  it,  and  I  thought  it 
would  be  amusing  to  see  what  the  young  gentleman  was 
like.  You  can  imagine  what  I  felt  when  she  showed  me 
into  the  room  and  I  found  Harry  there." 

She  looked  as  if  she  expected  an  exclamation  of  sur- 
prise at  this  climax;  but  Mrs.  Grant  had  already  been 
prepared  for  it  by  her  rigmarole.  "  That  explains  a 
great  deal,"  she  said.  "  I  suppose  they  had  met 
here." 

"  Yes,  two  years  ago,  when  Harry  was  a  boy — hardly 
more  than  a  child.  Could  you  believe  it  of  him,  and 
keeping  it  secret  all  that  time,  and  ever  since?  " 

"  What  happened?  "  asked  Mrs.  Grant,  adjusting  her 
thoughts  to  many  things. 


328  SIRHARRY 

"  They  were  sitting  side  by  side  on  the  sofa.  I  never 
had  such  a  shock  in  my  life.  I  could  only  stand  there 
and  stare.  She  jumped  up,  of  course.  I  hadn't  given 
my  name,  and  she  didn't  even  know  who  I  was.  Harry 
looked  very  black,  and  stood  up  too.  It  was  as  if  a 
sword  was  piercing  my  heart  to  see  my  son  look  at  me 
like  that." 

She  paused  for  a  moment.  It  occurred  to  Mrs.  Grant 
that  she  had  rehearsed  her  tale  beforehand,  and  that 
phrase  had  come  to  her  as  an  effective  one.  It  did  not 
seern  to  represent  what  she  was  actually  feeling,  though 
it  may  have  represented  what  she  thought  she  ought  to 
feel. 

"  I  could  only  gasp  out,  '  Harry !  You  here ! '  He 
said,  *  Yes,  mother ! '  Then  he  took  hold  of  the  girl's 
hand,  and  said,  '  This  is  Viola.  We  have  loved  each 
other  for  a  long  time.'  That  was  absolutely  all  he  said, 
and  she  said  nothing,  but  just  looked  at  me,  as  if  she  was 
frightened,  as  I  dare  say  she  was." 

"  Oh,  I  hope  you " 

She  did  not  continue.  Mrs.  Brent  would  tell  her  what 
she  had  done. 

She  did  not  tell  her  at  once,  and  Mrs.  Grant's  heart 
sank  as  she  expatiated  further  on  what  she  had  felt. 
"  The  very  thing,"  she  said,  "  that  we'd  all  sacrificed 
ourselves  to  prevent,  during  the  whole  of  Harry's  boy- 
hood. I  was  absolutely  stunned.  There  they  stood 
hand  in  hand  in  front  of  me,  and  waited  for  me  to  say 
something.  And  what  could  I  say?  Harry — my  boy! 


MRS.    BRENT    KNOWS  329 

And  a  girl  like  that !  Oh,  I  shall  never  get  over  it. 
And  I  can't  think  what  she'll  say,  though  there's  one 
thing — she  can't  blame  me  for  it." 

Mrs.  Grant  had  been  thinking  rapidly.  She  had 
heard  about  Viola  from  Mrs.  Ivimey.  Her  impression 
of  her  had  been  of  a  very  young  and  beautiful  girl,  of 
whom  nice  things  were  said  naturally.  It  needed  some 
little  effort  of  imagination  to  connect  her  with  Harry, 
and  certainly  it  was  rather  surprising  that  Harry,  of 
all  people,  should  have  cherished  that  kind  of  secret. 
But  the  picture  of  the  pair  of  them  standing  there  hand 
in  hand  waiting  for  the  speech  which  she  dreaded  to  be 
told  had  not  come  rose  before  her.  "  Oh,  he  couldn't 
have  gone  on  loving  her  for  two  whole  years  unless  she 
was  sweet  and  good,"  she  said. 

Mrs.  Brent  bridled  in  offence.  "  That  didn't  come  in 
when  /  was  married,"  she  said.  "  She's  no  better  than 
I  was.  Her  mother  wasn't  brought  up  as  I  had  been, 
though  there  was  nothing  against  her.  It  simply  can't 
be  allowed.  7  can't  do  anything.  Harry  won't  listen 
to  me.  This  girl  has  taken  him  away  from  me.  Of 
course  it's  all  explained  now — why  he  was  so  different 
to  me  when  he  came  home — oh,  and  why  he  didn't  write, 
and  everything.  He  wrote  to  her.  He  is  different. 
She's  made  him  so.  He  isn't  like  my  son  any  more.  I'm 
only  thankful  that  it  didn't  happen,  or  at  least  I  didn't 
know  about  it,  while  I  was  living  down  here." 

It  seemed  probable  that  she  was  congratulating  her- 
self that  the  whole  of  her  interests  in  life  were  no  longer 


330  SIR   HARRY 

bound  up  in  Harry.  This  was  no  very  comforting 
thought  to  Mrs.  Grant.  "  I  wish  you'd  tell  me  how  it 
ended,"  she  said. 

"  It  ended  in  Harry  being  very  unkind  to  me,"  she 
said,  with  the  first  signs  of  real  emotion.  "  He  said 
that  if  I  had  taken  the  girl  as  my  daughter — as  if  I 
could  have  done  that! — all  the  difficulties  would  have 
been  ended.  As  it  was  he  would  not  see  me  again  before 
he  went  to  France.  Young  people  are  very  cruel.  I'm 
his  mother  who  have  been  everything  to  him,  and  now 
I'm  nothing.  I  came  away  and  left  him  there.  It's  all 
over  for  me.  I've  lost  my  son,  and  this  girl  who  isn't 
fit  for  him  has  got  him.  But  I  don't  think  she'll  be 
allowed  to  keep  him.  I  shall  see  her  to-morrow.  She 
won't  be  pleased  at  the  end  of  all  her  plotting  and 
scheming.  But  I  shall  be  surprised  if  she  doesn't  think 
of  something  that  will  put  an  end  to  it." 


CHAPTER    XXVI 

LADY    BRENT    SPEAKS 

"  YES,"  said  Lady  Brent,  "  I  will  certainly  do  some- 
thing." 

Mrs.  Brent  had  told  her  story.  Lady  Brent  had  come 
home  from  Poldaven  earlier  than  she  had  expected.  She 
had  gone  up  to  the  Castle  and  found  her,  somewhat  to 
her  surprise,  in  her  business  room.  Surrounded  by  that 
ancient  magnificence  she  had  seemed  even  more  aloof  and 
forbidding  than  on  the  last  time  Mrs.  Brent  had  inter- 
viewed her  there.  But  this  time  she  had  felt  herself 
supported  by  a  sense  of  conciliation  in  herself.  The 
fact  that  after  all  her  struggles  and  resentments  against 
her  mother-in-law  she  was  now,  in  the  crisis  of  affairs, 
putting  herself  in  her  hands,  appealing  to  her  for  help, 
and  a  decision  where  she  could  do  nothing  herself,  would 
surely  soften  her.  From  this  interview  she  at  least  had 
nothing  to  fear  for  herself. 

But  the  stiff  face  and  the  silence  with  which  she 
listened  to  the  story  brought  a  sense  of  discomfort. 
Mrs.  Brent  ended  on  a  note  more  appealing  than  she 
had  intended  to  use.  "  He  won't  listen  to  me,"  she  said, 
"  but  I'm  sure  he  would  to  you.  Can't  you  do  some- 
thing? " 

lady  Brent  moved  in  her  chair  for  the  first  time. 
331 


332  SIRHARRY 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  with  a  frown,  and  in  a  voice  that  did 
nothing  to  remove  the  discomfort.  "  I  will  certainly  do 
something.  I  will  go  up  to  London  this  evening." 

"  By  the  night  train,"  said  Mrs.  Brent.  "  Shall  I 
come  with  you  ?  " 

"  I  think  you  had  better  stop  here.  You  have  done 
enough  mischief  already." 

"Mischief!  I?  What  do  you  mean?"  She  was 
surprised  and  greatly  offended,  but  also  a  little 
frightened. 

Lady  Brent  leant  towards  her  accusingly.  "  He 
won't  do  anything  for  you,  you  say.  Why  should  he, 
when  you  treat  him  as  you  do?  A  vain  selfish  fool, 
thinking  of  yourself  all  the  time  and  your  own  mean 
little  pleasures  and  dignities  !  Serve  you  right  if  you've 
lost  his  love  for  the  rest  of  your  life." 

All  Mrs.  Brent's  resentments  flared  up.  Lady  Brent 
had  been  conciliatory  towards  her  of  late,  with  an  evi- 
dent desire  to  avoid  conflict,  and  she  had  taken  advan- 
tage of  it  and  lost  some  of  her  awe  of  her;  she  had 
thought  of  herself  almost  as  having  the  upper  hand, 
and  had  come  to  this  interview  prepared  to  treat  with 
her  amicably  and  be  generous  in  making  some  admis- 
sions. But  she  wanted  a  row,  did  she?  Very  well  then, 
she  should  have  it.  All  her  Cockney  fighting  spirit  was 
aroused.  She  had  years  of  oppression  to  resent  and  to 
revenge.  She  was  not  under  her  thumb  now,  to  be 
browbeaten  and  kept  in  her  place.  She  leapt  to  the 
opportunity  of  striking  and  wounding. 

"  That's  what  you'd  like,"  she  said,  "  for  me  to  lose 


LADY    BRENT    SPEAKS  333 

his  love.  You've  tried  to  take  him  away  from  me  all 
his  life  up  till  now,  and  you  haven't  been  able  to  do  it. 
Now  you'll  make  use  of  this,  somehow,  to  get  your  way. 
But  you  won't  do  it.  If  he  won't  listen  to  me,  he  won't 
listen  to  you.  I'm  a  fool,  you  say.  Yes,  I  was  a  fool 
to  come  to  you  and  think  you  could  do  anything. 
You've  worked  and  worked  to  have  your  own  way,  and 
now  it's  ended  like  this.  You'll  suffer  for  it.  You'll 
suffer  for  it  more  than  I  shall." 

Lady  Brent  listened  to  this,  leaning  back  in  her  chair 
again.  When  she  spoke  her  voice  was  even,  but  her 
face  was  white  and  her  hands  lying  in  her  lap  trembled 
ever  so  little.  If  Mrs.  Brent's  fury  had  not  blinded  her, 
she  might  have  noticed  these  signs  and  taken  warning 
from  them,  for  they  had  never  been  shown  before,  even 
in  the  sharpest  encounters  between  them. 

"  Whatever  suffering  there  is  to  be,"  said  the  low 
decisive  voice,  "  I  shall  no  doubt  feel  more  than  you. 
You're  a  very  poor  creature,  and  as  long  as  you  have 
something  in  life  to  amuse  you  you  won't  suffer  much 
through  others.  I've  tried  to  make  the  best  of  you,  for 
Harry's  sake.  You've  had  your  chance  with  him — a 
better  chance  than  you  could  ever  have  had  but  for  me. 
Sometimes  I've  thought  it  had  succeeded  to  have  you 
here,  when  I've  wished  with  all  my  heart  that  you  could 
be  away.  But  the  test  has  come  now,  and  you've  failed. 
Yes,  you've  failed,  much  more  than  you  know.  You're 
upset  in  your  foolish  way  now,  but  you  think  I  have 
only  to  step  in  and  do  something,  and  it  will  be  put 
right  for  you  again.  It  will  never  be  put  right." 


334  SIR   HARRY 

Mrs.  Brent  had  tried  to  break  in  once  or  twice  in  the 
course  of  this  speech,  but  the  level  voice  had  gone  on 
till  the  end,  and  the  eyes  fixed  upon  her  had  never 
wavered.  She  realized  that  nothing  would  be  spared 
her,  that  whatever  dislike  and  hostility  she  might  choose 
to  express  in  her  anger  would  be  met  by  a  feeling  at 
least  as  strong,  which  would  find  expression  now,  after 
being  kept  under  for  years,  with  a  force  in  comparison 
with  which  her  own  powers  of  attack  were  as  nothing. 
Already  she  was  affected  by  it.  She  glimpsed  hatred  of 
her  behind  the  steady  utterance.  She  had  talked  freely 
of  her  own  hatred,  but  it  was  a  terrifying  thing  to  feel 
it  returned. 

"  I  don't  know  what  you're  thinking  about,"  she  said, 
half  sulkily.  "  I'd  nothing  to  do  with  his  meeting  this 
girl.  I  did  know  her  mother,  as  it  happened,  but  hadn't 
any  idea  that  it  was  her  mother.  It  isn't  through  me 
any  more  than' through  you  that  he's  got  himself  mixed 
up  with  people  like  that." 

"  That's  all  that  you  can  see  in  it,  is  it  ?  People 
like  that!  You  think  this  girl  is  like  you  were,  when 
my  poor  Harry  came  across  you.  I  loved  my  son,  far 
more  than  you  have  it  in  you  to  love  yours,  but  I  know 
he  was  weak  and  foolish ;  and  he  was  fitly  mated.  This 
Harry  isn't  weak  and  foolish.  Do  you  think  he'd  be 
likely  to  do  what  his  father  did?  Is  that  all  you  know 
of  him  after  all  these  years  ?  " 

She  tried  to  control  herself.  "  You  may  say  what 
you  like  about  me,"  she  said,  in  a  voice  that  trembled 
a  little.  "  I  know  you  hate  me  and  always  have,  for 


LADY    BRENT    SPEAKS  335 

marrying  your  son,  and  still  more  for  being  Harry's 
mother.  But  say  what  you  like,  Harry  is  doing  exactly 
what  his  father  did.  Why  should  you  take  it  for 
granted  that  this  girl  is  any  different  to  what  I  was? 
It's  just  your  spite  against  me.  You  haven't  seen 
her." 

"  No,  but  you  have." 

That  hit  her  like  a  blow  in  the  face.  Always  batter- 
ing at  the  gates  of  her  mind,  to  which  she  had  never 
given  it  entrance,  was  the  thought  that  Viola  was  sur- 
prisingly different  from  herself,  surprisingly  unlike  what 
she  would  have  expected  her  mother's  daughter  to  be, 
though  in  feature  she  resembled  her. 

Still  it  was  true  that  Lady  Brent  had  not  seen  her, 
and  could  not  know.  "  Her  mother  was  an  actress,  no 
better  than  I  was,"  she  said,  " — not  so  good  in  many 
ways.  Her  father  is  a  scene-painter  in  a  theatre,  and 
drinks  too.  My  father  was  a  good  man,  though  he  may 
not  have  been  what  you'd  call  a  gentleman.  That's 
what  all  your  wonderful  bringing  up  of  Harry  has  led 
to.  If  he'd  been  brought  up  more  naturally,  and  not 
everything  and  everybody  sacrificed  to  keep  him  shut  up 
down  here,  it's  very  unlikely  that  this  would  have  hap- 
pened." 

"You  think  that,  do  you,  in  your  loving  wisdom? 
You  had  the  boy  always  before  you,  and  saw  what  he 
was  growing  into.  So  did  I,  and  I  trusted  him.  You 
couldn't." 

"  I  don't  mind  your  sneers.  At  any  rate,  on  the  first 
opportunity  he  does  what  any  other  boy  might  do.  He 


336  SIRHARRY 

meets  a  girl  and  falls  in  love  with  her,  and  keeps  it  from 
us  all  the  time  he's  meeting  her,  and  afterwards." 

"  Keeps  it  from  you,  I  suppose  you  mean." 

"  Keeps  it  from  all  of  us,  I  said.  Did  you  know  any 
more  than  I  did  that  he  had  met  this  girl  down 
here?" 

"  Of  course  I  knew." 

She  could  only  sit  and  stare,  with  her  mouth  a  little 
open.  Whatever  she  may  have  thought  of,  it  had  never 
been  this. 

Lady  Brent  did  not  treat  her  disclosure  as  a  triumph 
to  be  dwelt  upon.  "  How  could  I  help  knowing?  "  she 
went  on.  "  I  loved  Harry.  Nothing  could  have  hap- 
pened in  his  life  to  alter  it  that  I  shouldn't  have  noticed. 
When  I  saw  that  something  had  happened  I  waited  until 
it  came  to  me  what  it  was." 

"  You  knew,  and  you  let  it  go  on !  "  The  revelation 
had  taken  all  the  sting  out  of  her.  She  was  more  inter- 
ested than  offended. 

"  Didn't  I  tell  you  that  I  trusted  Harry  ?  I  knew 
what  he  was,  if  you  didn't.  I  should  have  known  if  he 
had  taken  a  wrong  turning  in  life,  and  then  I  should 
have  tried  to  influence  him.  When  I  did  know  what  had 
happened  I  knew  well  enough  that  he  hadn't  taken  a 
wrong  turning,  by  the  way  he  bore  himself.  You 
couldn't  see  that.  You  can't  even  see  it  now." 

Mrs.  Brent's  surprise  was  still  strong  enough  to 
swamp  her  resentment  at  wounding  speeches.  "  Why 
didn't  you  do  anything  afterwards,  when  he  went 
away?  "  she  asked.  "  You  did  do  something.  You  got 


LADY    BRENT    SPEAKS  337 

Sidney  Pawle  down  here.  You  hoped  that  she  and 
Harry  would  fall  in  love  with  one  another.  I  know 
that.  You  thought  they  had.  I  know  that  too.  I 
think  you're  making  yourself  out  cleverer  than  you  are, 
though  I  don't  deny  you  were  clever,  if  you  found  out 
what  nobody  else  did." 

"  It  matters  very  little  to  me,"  said  Lady  Brent, 
"  what  you  deny  or  what  you  accept.  You've  made 
yourself  nothing  and  you  are  nothing.  I  believe  that 
this  girl  Harry  loves  is  worthy  of  him,  or  he  wouldn't 
have  gone  on  loving  her.  But  they  were  both  very 
young.  It  might  have  died  out  of  itself.  I  didn't  know 
whether  it  had  or  not.  I  might  have  found  out,  but  I 
wouldn't  take  any  steps  to  do  that.  And  even  if  the 
girl  is  worthy  of  him,  there  are  objections  otherwise. 
You  have  named  them  yourself.  There  are  no  such  ob- 
jections to  Sidney  Pawle.  I  should  have  been  glad  if 
Harry's  first  attachment  had  worn  itself  out  and  he 
could  have  married  her.  Yes,  I  did  hope  that  they 
might  have  fallen  in  love  with  one  another.  You  are 
right  there.  You  are  quite  wrong  in  saying  that  I 
thought  they  had.  You  may  have  thought  so,  who  knew 
so  little  of  Harry.  I  knew  very  soon  that  there  was 
something  in  the  way." 

Mrs.  Brent  was  beaten.  Even  resentment  no  longer 
moved  her.  She  wanted  to  ward  off  further  blows,  and 
to  propitiate.  "  When  you  go  up  to  London,  shall  you 
tell  Harry  that  we  are  ready  to  recognize  his  engage- 
ment to  this  Viola  Bastian?  "  she  asked. 

Lady  Brent  seemed  to  take  breath.    She  had  given  her 


338  SIRHARRY 

explanation  as  to  one  with  whom  she  might  have  been 
talking  on  equal  terms.  But  there  was  still  punishment 
to  be  dealt  out,  the  smouldering  fire  of  years  of  dislike 
and  contempt,  which  had  been  banked  up  so  as  only 
now  and  then  to  show  a  flicker,  but  now  could  be  allowed 
to  burst  into  scorching  flame. 

"Why  should  I  tell  you  what  I  mean  to  do?"  she 
said,  with  fierce  scorn.  "  Stay  where  you  are  till  I've 
put  right  what  you  hadn't  the  sense  or  the  heart  to  do ; 
and  don't  meddle.  Then  you  can  go  where  you  like  and 
do  what  you  like;  only  not  here.  For  years  I've  had  to 
live  with  you,  and  bear  with  your  ignorance  and  vanity 
and  folly,  and  keep  you  from  going  back  on  what  you'd 
set  your  hand  to  of  your  own  free  will.  I've  defended 
you  from  your  silly  selfish  self,  so  that  your  own  son 
shouldn't  see  what  a  thing  of  naught  you  were.  You've 
had  your  chance  up  to  the  last  moment.  Directly  it 
depends  upon  yourself  you  can  only  strike  the  son  you 
say  you  love  in  his  tenderest  place,  and  then  come 
snivelling  to  me  to  mend  the  damage  you've  done.  You 
want  me  to  put  myself  on  your  side,  and  treat  him  as 
you  did.  Be  very  sure  that  I  shall  treat  him  in  no  way 
as  you  have  done.  I've  stood  aside  all  these  years,  so 
as  not  to  take  what  was  owing  to  you,  as  I  might  well 
have  done  if  I'd  lifted  a  little  finger.  Now  I'll  take 
whatever  I've  earned.  Mend  your  own  broken  pieces  if 
you  can.  I'll  do  nothing  to  help  you.  Live  your  own 
useless  selfish  life.  You  shall  have  money  for  it.  But 
live  it  away  from  here.  You  told  me  once,  in  one  of 
your  foolish  discontented  fits,  that  this  house  was  like 


LADY    BRENT    SPEAKS  339 

a  prison  to  you.  You're  free  of  your  prison.  Go ;  and 
do  what  you  like  with  your  liberty." 

She  rose  suddenly,  and  went  out.  Mrs.  Brent  sat  for 
a  time  where  she  was,  with  a  white  frightened  face. 
Then  she  went  out  of  the  room  too,  and  out  of  the  house, 
weeping  silently.  She  would  not  stay  there  another 
minute.  She  would  not  run  the  risk  of  meeting  that 
terrible  woman  again,  who  had  treated  her  so  wickedly. 
She  would  never  see  her  again,  and  as  for  taking  money 
from  her — she  would  work  her  fingers  to  the  bone  before 
she  would  touch  a  penny.  She  went  down  to  the  Vicar- 
age, where  she  poured  out  her  outraged  feelings  to  Mrs. 
Grant,  and  gained  some  consolation  from  her.  A  strong 
cup  of  tea  also  did  much  to  comfort  her,  and  after  that 
she  went  to  bed  with  a  headache.  Exhausted  by  the 
emotions  of  the  day  she  slept  throughout  the  night, 
which  Lady  Brent  spent  sitting  upright  in  a  railway 
carriage,  her  endless  thoughts  running  to  the  steady 
beat  of  the  train. 

Wilbraham  met  her  in  London  very  early  in  the 
morning  and  took  her  to  her  hotel.  "  Harry  went  off 
yesterday,"  he  told  her.  "  I  sent  your  telegram  on  to 
him,  but  there  has  been  no  answer  yet.  There  may  be 
one  to  my  rooms  this  morning.  But  it  doesn't  very  much 
matter,  does  it,  as  long  as  he  knows  that  you  are  going 
to  see  Viola  ?  " 

"  If  he  should  be  killed ! "  she  said.  It  was  the 
thought  that  the  iron  wheels  had  dinned  into  her  brain 
all  through  the  night.  She  could  not  help  giving  it 
utterance ;  but  she  said  immediately,  "  Oh,  we  mustn't 


340  SIRHARRY 

think  of  that.  You  have  arranged  that  I  am  to  see  the 
girl  this  afternoon  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  will  take  you  there.  You'll  rest  during  the 
day,  won't  you?  You  must  be  very  tired." 

He  stole  a  look  at  her.  She  was  looking  as  if  the 
long  journey  had  tried  her  severely.  He  had  never 
thought  of  her  as  getting  old,  but  now  he  did. 

"  Yes,  I  will  rest,"  she  said.  "  There  is  nothing  else 
to  do.  Do  you  know  I  haven't  been  in  London  for 
twenty  years  ?  " 

She  was  looking  out  of  the  window  of  the  taxi-cab,  at 
the  London  streets  beginning  to  fill  up  with  the  day's 
traffic.  She  wanted  a  respite.  The  innumerable  ques- 
tions he  had  to  ask  of  her  must  wait. 

He  breakfasted  with  her  in  her  private  sitting-room, 
where  they  could  talk  afterwards,  if  she  was  so  minded, 
before  he  went  off  to  his  work.  She  came  to  it  re- 
freshed, and  was  ready  for  him  when  they  were  alone 
together. 

"  Tell  me  about  the  girl,"  she  said.  "  I  know  she 
must  be  good  and  sweet,  and  I  know  that  she  has  helped 
Harry  through  his  difficult  time." 

"  I  can't  tell  you  more  than  that,"  he  said,  "  except 
that  she's  beautiful,  and  exactly  what  you'd  want  her 
to  be,  except  perhaps  in  the  matter  of  her  birth.  I 
don't  say  anything  against  her  upbringing,  as  it  has 
left  her  what  she  is.  But  you  seem  to  know  everything 
about  her  already.  I've  known  you  for  a  good  many 
years,  but  you're  always  full  of  surprises.  The  greatest 
you've  ever  given  me  is  when  you  wired  that  you'd 


LADY    BRENT    SPEAKS  341 

always  known.  You  must  have  thought  of  me  as  a 
pretty  large  size  in  fools  during  some  of  the  conversa- 
tions we  used  to  have.  How  did  you  find  out,  and 
when?" 

She  smiled  at  him.  "  I  think  you  might  have  guessed 
that  I  knew,"  she  said,  "  when  I  let  you  come  to  London 
to  find  out  about  Harry,  and  to  get  a  message  to  him. 
I  didn't  particularly  want  you  to  know  then,  because, 
to  tell  you  the  truth,  I  did  rather  hope  that  it  wouldn't 
continue.  I  saw  that  it  had  done  him  no  harm,  but  it 
still  might  have  been  nothing  more  than  a  pretty  boy 
and  girl  love-making.  Then  I  shouldn't  have  wanted  him 
to  know  that  I  had  surprised  his  secret." 

"  No,"  he  said.  "  You  showed  infinite  wisdom,  as  you 
always  do.  But  tell  me  how  you  knew." 

"  Something  had  happened  to  Harry.  I  think  I  must 
have  guessed  it  the  very  first  time  he  met  her,  or  at  least 
when  he  found  out  he  loved  her,  and  I  think  that  must 
have  been  the  first  time  he  met  her,  or  why  shouldn't  he 
have  told  us?  I  was  always  on  the  lookout  for  changes 
in  him,  and  you  see  I  knew  the  signs  of  this  change. 
Harry  is  much  more  like  my  dear  husband  was,  when 
he  was  young,  than  he  is  like  his  father.  It  was  only 
that  kind  of  love  that  could  have  made  him  so  happy 
and  so  silent  and  so  absorbed.  Oh,  I  knew  very  soon, 
and  of  course  I  put  two  and  two  together,  and  knew 
who  it  was.  Afterwards,  little  pieces  of  evidence  came 
to  me,  but  I  didn't  try  to  seek  them,  and  I  didn't  need 
them.  Nobody  guessed  they  had  met.  Nobody  knew  at 
Royd,  except  me — and  you." 


342  SIRHARRY 

He  laughed  ruefully,  and  told  her  how  and  when  he 
had  found  out.  "  Perhaps  you  guessed  even  before  I 
did,"  he  said.  "  Were  you  annoyed  with  me  for  keeping 
it  to  myself?  " 

"  I  knew  that  you  would  have  told  me,  if  I  had  given 
you  any  encouragement.  I  didn't  want  you  to  tell  me. 
I  knew  too  that  you  had  seen  her  and  must  have  thought 
of  her  as  I  think  now.  If  you  hadn't  I  think  you  would 
have  told  me  anyhow/' 

He  breathed  a  sigh  of  relief.  "  That's  off  my  mind 
then,"  he  said.  "  I  didn't  like  keeping  anything  from 
you.  And  I've  told  Harry  more  than  once  that  he  had 
nothing  to  fear  from  you." 

"  He  couldn't  believe  that,  I  suppose.  He  might  have 
thought  that  I  would  behave  as  Charlotte — that  light 
fool — has  behaved." 

"  You  had  Harry's  letter  before  you  saw  her?  " 

"  Yes,  but  the  post  is  very  late  at  Poldaven.  I  went 
home  at  once,  and  saw  her.  On  my  way  to  Royd  I 
thought  how  I  could  bring  some  of  the  truth  home  to 
her.  I  think  I  made  an  impression." 

Her  voice  was  as  quiet  as  before,  but  something  in  its 
tone  caused  him  to  look  up.  "  You  didn't  spare  her,  I 
suppose,"  he  said. 

"  No,  I  didn't  spare  her.  I  think  I  was  cruel.  I 
know  I  meant  to  be.  But  she's  not  worth  troubling 
oneself  about.  Anger  is  a  debasing  passion,  and  I'm 
not  sure  that  mine  was  altogether  righteous  anger.  I 
wanted  to  make  an  end  of  her.  I  hope  for  the  future 
I  shall  need  to  see  very  little  of  her." 


LADY    BRENT    SPEAKS  343 

He  looked  grave.  "  Can't  you  forgive  her,  if  things 
go  right  now?  "  he  asked. 

"  Oh,  forgive  her!  If  I  know  anything  of  her — and 
I  ought  to  by  this  time — she'll  never  forgive  me.  She'll 
hate  me  to  her  dying  day,  and  I  care  no  more  than  if 
she  loved  me.  What  is  the  love  of  a  poor  thing  like  that 
worth?  She  loved  Harry,  and  what  does  that  amount 
to?" 

"  She  did  love  him,  though.  She  did  give  her  life  up 
to  him,  in  the  only  way  she  could  have  done.  It  wasn't 
in  her  to  make  herself  happy  living  as  she  did — as  we 
all  did — at  Royd.  But  she  stuck  to  it  for  nearly  twenty 
years." 

"  Oh,  yes.  I  kept  her  to  that.  I  was  fair  to  her;  I 
gave  her  her  chance.  It  would  have  been  an  immense 
relief  if  she  had  gone  away.  If  I  hadn't  been  fair  to 
her  I  could  have  got  rid  of  her  easily  enough.  She 
would  have  gone,  and  she  would  never  have  known  that 
she  hadn't  gone  of  her  own  accord." 

He  laughed  at  that.  "  I  think  there  were  times  when 
you  nearly  allowed  yourself  to  drive  her  away,"  he  said. 
"  Of  course  I  don't  defend  what  she  did.  She  had  a 
great  chance  with  Harry,  and  she  lost  it.  But  it  is 
hard,  I  suppose,  for  mothers  to  lose  their  sons  after 
they  have  been  so  much  to  them.  There  is  some  excuse 
for  her." 

"  I  don't  think  there's  any,"  she  replied  at  once. 
"  And  as  for  its  being  hard  on  mothers,  it's  only  that 
kind  of  mother — foolish  and  sentimental  and  selfish — 
who  puts  herself  into  rivalry  with  the  other  kind  of  love, 


344  SIRHARRY 

when  the  time  eomes  for  it.  The  love  of  a  child  is  very 
sweet,  but  it  can't  last  like  that  much  beyond  childhood. 
She'd  had  it  all.  She's  had  it  to  the  full.  Nobody  tried 
to  deprive  her  of  it,  though  of  course  she  accuses  me  of 
trying  to  do  so.  I  might  have  done.  I  shouldn't  have 
wearied  Harry  with  my  love  as  she  has  wearied  him. 
I  should  have  been  less  exigent,  less  selfish,  controlled 
myself  more.  She  doesn't  know,  even  now,  and  I  shan't 
take  the  trouble  to  tell  her,  that  she  doesn't  love  him 
nearly  as  much  as  she  thinks  she  does.  If  it  weren't  for 
her  jealousy  she  would  be  quite  content  to  live  her  own 
life  chiefly  apart  from  him,  now  he  is  grown  up,  and  no 
longer  a  child  to  be  petted,  and  to  return  petting.  She 
has  lived  her  foolish  shallow  life  apart  for  the  last  two 
years,  and  she  has  let  it  be  known  that  she  thinks  her- 
self raised  in  living  it.  Oh,  you  needn't  worry  yourself 
about  Charlotte.  She  hasn't  got  the  depth  to  feel  any- 
thing for  long." 


CHAPTER    XXVII 

LADY    BRENT    AND    VIOLA 

LADY  BRENT  wondered,  when  Mrs.  Clark  opened  the 
door  to  her  at  Bastian's  lodgings,  how  much  was  known 
at  Royd  of  what  had  already  happened  in  this  house. 
If  Mrs.  Clark  had  not  discovered  who  Harry  was,  which 
seemed  unlikely,  and  had  not  seen  Mrs.  Brent,  she  knew 
well  enough  whom  she  was  admitting  now.  It  was  not 
made  plain  that  she  expected  the  visit,  but  she  expressed 
no  surprise  at  it,  and  evidently  expected  to  be  recog- 
nized. Lady  Brent  said  a  few  words  to  her  about  her 
sister  at  Royd,  as  she  was  being  conducted  up  the 
stairs.  Everything  would  come  into  the  light  now,  and 
it  was  much  better  so. 

Viola  was  alone  in  the  sitting-room.  It  had  been  made 
very  tidy,  and  was  filled  with  flowers.  The  great  red 
roses  might  have  been  Harry's  gift  to  her.  The  little 
row  of  vellum-bound  books  above  the  table  in  her  corner 
certainly  were,  for  Wilbraham  had  procured  them  to 
his  order. 

Viola  stood  by  the  middle  table  as  they  entered.  She 
looked  very  young  and  very  beautiful — all  the  more 
beautiful  because  of  the  colour  that  was  flooding  her 
delicate  skin,  and  the  half-alarmed  look  in  her  dark 
eyes. 

345 


346  SIR   HARRY 

Lady  Brent  waited  until  the  door  was  shut  behind 
her,  searching  her  with  her  eyes,  and  then  went  forward 
and  kissed  her.  Viola  did  not  seem  to  have  expected 
this.  She  was  confused,  and  there  was  moisture  in  her 
eyes  as  she  greeted  Wilbraham,  though  she  smiled  at 
him. 

Wilbraham  spoke  first.  "  You've  had  Lady  Brent's 
telegram,"  he  said.  "  And  now  she's  come  herself. 
Everything  is  all  right,  Viola." 

Her  tears  fell.  "  If  Harry  loves  you,  my  dear,  that's 
enough  for  me,"  said  Lady  Brent,  taking  her  hand. 

"  And  you  can  hardly  be  blamed  for  loving  him,"  said 
Wilbraham.  "  We  all  love  him.  I  don't  know  why,  but 
we  do." 

She  laughed,  as  she  was  meant  to  do,  and  dried  her 
tears.  "  I've  had  a  telegram  from  him,"  she  said.  "  He 
sent  you  his  dear  love." 

Lady  Brent  showed  her  pleasure.  "  I  wish  he'd  told 
me  sooner,"  she  said.  "  You  might  have  been  with  him 
at  Royd." 

"  We've  all  been  making  a  mistake,  Viola,"  said 
Wilbraham.  "  I  suppose  I'm  most  to  blame,  because 
I've  had  this  lady  under  observation  for  a  good  many 
years,  and  might  have  known  that  nothing  so  important 
as  you  could  have  escaped  her." 

He  wanted  to  keep  the  interview  on  a  light  key,  at 
least  until  talk  should  flow  between  them.  They  had 
both  been  through  a  good  deal  during  the  last  few  days, 
but  the  trouble  was  ended  now,  and  the  sooner  it  could 
be  forgotten  the  better. 


LADY    BRENT    AND    VIOLA     347 

Lady  Brent  and  Viola  were  sitting  side  by  side  on  the 
sofa.  Lady  Brent  was  not  quite  ready  for  the  lighter 
note.  "  You  know  that  Harry's  bringing  up  was  dif- 
ferent from  that  of  other  boys,"  she  said.  "  It  was 
owing  to  me  that  it  was  so,  and  though  I  tried  to  avoid 
the  appearance  of  dominating  him,  I  could  hardly  escape 
being  looked  upon  as  a  person  who  might  take  a  decisive 
line  either  with  him  or  against  him.  But  I  can  say  very 
truly  that  my  guiding  rule  was  love  for  him.  I  love 
Harry  very  much,  and  I  have  trusted  him  too.  I 
wouldn't  have  stood  out  against  him  in  anything  that  he 
had  a  right  to  decide  for  himself." 

"  I'm  afraid  it  was  I  at  first  who  wanted  to  keep  our 
secret  to  ourselves,"  Viola  said.  "  Or  at  least  perhaps 
not  quite  at  first,  for  then  we  didn't  think  about  it ;  but 
when  we  first  found  out  that  we  loved  one  another.  I 
think  he  would  have  told  you  then,  but  I  knew  more 
about  the  world  than  he  did,  and  I  didn't  think  that  you 
would  want  us  to  go  on  loving  one  another.  Afterwards 
I  did  what  he  wanted." 

"  We  all  do  what  Harry  wants,"  said  Wilbraham. 
"  He  has  that  sort  of  way  with  him.  I've  done  it  my- 
self, when  I  ought  to  have  stood  out." 

"  Harry  is  very  happy  now,"  said  Viola.  "  He  sent 
me  a  long  telegram.  Would  you  like  to  see  it?  " 

"  No,"  said  Lady  Brent,  marking  the  motion  she 
made  with  her  hand,  which  showed  the  warm  nest  in 
which  Harry's  telegram  was  reposing.  "  Keep  it  for 
yourself.  I  want  to  ask  you  if  you'd  like  to  come  down 
to  Royd  now,  or  wait  till  Harry  can  bring  you.  You 


348  SIRHARRY 

will  have  a  warm  welcome  whichever  you  like  to  do.  He 
might  like  to  know  you  are  there." 

"I  expect  the  claims  of  the  government  service  will 
have  to  come  first,  unreasonable  as  it  may  appear,"  said 
Wilbraham,  marking  her  slight  hesitation.  "  I  know 
they  have  to  with  me." 

"  I  couldn't  get  away  just  now,"  she  said.  "  And  in 
August  I  was  going  away  for  a  fortnight  with  father — 
if  Harry  is  all  right." 

That  was  what  lay  like  a  shadow  over  the  brightness 
brought  by  the  recognition  of  her.  The  war  was  to  be 
finished  by  that  hoarded  effort  for  which  those  who  knew 
were  breathlessly  waiting.  But  the  hoard  was  chiefly 
of  men,  and  much  of  it  must  be  scattered  if  success  was 
to  be  gained  by  it. 

Lady  Brent  made  no  pretence  of  taking  it  anything 
but  seriously.  "  I  have  friends  at  the  War  Office,"  she 
said.  "  We  should  get  news  at  Royd  as  soon  as  in 
London,  perhaps  sooner."  She  made  no  allusion  to  the 
other  reason  that  Viola  had  given.  How  did  Harry 
regard  Bastian?  She  had  talked  that  over  with  Wil- 
braham. They  did  not  know  even  if  he  had  met  him. 
He  was  not  to  be  asked  to  Royd  until  Harry  gave  the 
word. 

Viola  still  seemed  to  be  hesitating,  and  Lady  Brent 
took  her  hesitation  to  mean  that  she  would  rather  not 
come  to  Royd  without  Harry,  and  accepted  it  at  once. 
She  talked  to  her  about  Harry,  and  presently  Viola  was 
talking  about  him  too,  filling  her  hungry  ears  with  news 
of  the  times  at  which  she  had  missed  him. 


LADY    BRENT    AND    VIOLA     349 

Viola  knew  that  he  had  been  wounded,  though  he  had 
kept  it  from  her  at  the  time.  "  He  was  very  ill  after 
the  second  wound,"  she  said.  "  A  man  who  was  with  him 
wrote  to  me  when  he  couldn't,  and  I  got  a  telegram  to 
say  he  was  better  before  I  got  the  letter,  so  I  wasn't 
so  unhappy  as  I  might  have  been.  I  don't  think  he 
would  have  got  through  that  if  he  hadn't  been  so  splen- 
didly strong  and  young,  and  hadn't  been  so  devotedly 
nursed.  All  the  men  he  was  with  loved  him,  and  this 
one  never  left  him." 

Lady  Brent  would  not  let  it  be  seen  how  much  this 
news  of  his  past  danger  moved  her.  Here  was  a  thing 
for  which  none  of  her  searching  thoughts  had  prepared 
her.  "  He  has  told  us  scarcely  anything  of  what  has 
been  happening  to  him,"  she  said.  "  It  seemed  to  lie 
upon  him  heavily." 

"  It  doesn't  now,"  said  Viola.  "  Being  at  Royd  has 
brought  him  back.  He  has  told  me  all  about  Jane  and 
Sidney.  Do  you  think  I  might  write  to  Jane  now,  and 
tell  her  about  us  ?  " 

Lady  Brent  was  struck  by  her  entire  absence  of 
jealousy.  She  might  have  felt  sad  that  the  healing 
process  had  not  been  all  her  own  work.  It  showed  how 
unselfishly  she  loved  him,  and  how  sure  she  was  of  him. 

"  Jane  is  a  loyal  little  soul,"  she  said.  "  She  will  be 
very  pleased  to  hear  from  you,  I  know."  She  smiled 
at  Viola.  "  The  one  thing  I  never  quite  gauged  at  its 
proper  value  was  the  companionship  of  young  people.  I 
think  now  that  he  ought  to  have  had  more  of  it.  But 
he  seemed  so  happy,  with  all  his  own  pursuits." 


350  SIRHARRY 

"  Oh,  he  was  happy,  I  know,"  she  said,  eagerly.  "  It 
is  wonderful  to  hear  him  talk  of  his  life  at  Royd.  Per- 
haps I'm  not  altogether  sorry  I  was  nearly  the  first, 
because  I  got  it  all.  Harry  isn't  like  anybody  else  that 
ever  lived.  He's  wonderful.  He  couldn't  have  been 
quite  the  same  if  he  hadn't  been  brought  up  always  in 
that  beautiful  place,  and  left  a  great  deal  to  himself 
and  the  woods  and  the  hills  and  the  sea." 

"  I  am  glad  you  think  of  it  like  that,"  said  Lady 
Brent.  "  But  I  have  been  troubled  by  something  he  said 
to  me  when  he  first  came  home.  His  upbringing  has 
made  him  what  he  is,  but  there  are  many  things  it  didn't 
prepare  him  for.  I  think  he  was  dreading  going  out 
again,  as  an  officer.  He  doesn't  know  other  young  men 
of  his  class.  He  is  so  different  from  them,  and  they  want 
everybody  to  be  alike.  With  the  men  of  simpler  lives 
that  he  has  lived  with  and  fought  with  he  would  have 
made  his  way  more  easily." 

"  Yes,"  said  Viola.  "  I  was  very  sad  at  first  to  think 
of  him  thrown  into  that  rough  hard  life,  but  I  needn't 
have  been.  And  I  think  now  he  is  happier  about  the 
other." 

She  looked  at  Wilbraham,  who  said :  "  We've  had  it 
out,  we  three  together.  It's  not  as  serious  as  you  have 
been  thinking.  You  must  remember  that  he  hasn't  been 
with  young  men  of  his  own  sort  at  all ;  and  in  the  ranks 
of  course  he'd  look  at  them  from  another  angle  alto- 
gether ;  and  perhaps  he  wouldn't  like  everything  he  saw 
about  them — his  officers,  I  mean.  That's  all  it  is,  really 
— a  diffidence  about  how  he's  going  to  fit  in  with  them. 


LADY    BRENT    AND    VIOLA     351 

But  of  course  he'll  make  his  way,  with  the  other  subal- 
terns and  people,  just  as  he  did  with  the  men.  There's 
so  much  character  in  him,  as  well  as  everything  that 
young  men  do  value  in  each  other.  I  think  we  persuaded 
him  that  he'd  be  a  good  deal  better  off  than  he  has  been, 
didn't  we,  Viola?" 

"  Oh,  he  didn't  want  very  much  persuasion.  He  said 
he  had  been  worrying  himself  about  things  that  didn't 
really  matter.  But  he  was  so  much  happier  about 
everything  when  he  came  back  from  Royd.  I  don't 
think  even  I  could  have  done  that — not  alone.  It  would 
just  have  been  we  two,  keeping  out  of  the  world  to- 
gether. And  poor  Harry  is  in  the  world  now." 

"  Yes,"  said  Wilbraham,  "  and  well  fitted  to  cope  with 
it.  Of  course  it  came  as  a  shock  to  him  at  first.  It 
would  have  done  that  anyhow,  and  he  would  have  had  to 
square  his  accounts  with  it  by  himself,  before  he  could 
have  felt  himself  at  his  ease.  We  couldn't  have  helped 
him.  If  you're  still  troubling  yourself  about  having 
made  mistakes,  dear  lady,  I  don't  think  you  need.  You 
made  very  few.  You  forged  the  good  steel  in  him,  but 
it  had  to  be  tempered." 

This  view  of  it  comforted  her.  "  We  shall  all  be  very 
happy  now,"  she  said. 

When  they  had  talked  a  little  longer,  Bastian 
came  in. 

Lady  Brent  rose  from  the  sofa,  and  they  stood  looking 
at  one  another  for  an  instant  before  Bastian  shook 
hands  with  her,  with  a  laugh.  "  I  wasn't  prepared  for 
this,"  he  said.  "  Have  you  known  who  I  was?  " 


352  SIRHARRY 

*'  No,"  she  said.  "  Your  people  thought  you  were  on 
the  other  side  of  the  world." 

"  I  meant  them  to,"  he  said.  "  I'd  no  use  for  my 
people,  after  the  way  they  behaved  to  me.  I  took  rather 
an  absurd  name,  which  was  the  last  they  would  recog- 
nize me  under  if  they  ever  came  across  it,  which  seemed 
unlikely." 

Viola  and  Wilbraham  were  in  bewilderment.  "  Lady 
Brent  and  I  used  to  know  one  another  in  the  old  days," 
Bastian  said  to  Viola.  "  It  shows  how  I've  cut  myself 
off  from  that  world  that  I  didn't  even  know  she  was 
Lady  Brent."  He  turned  to  Lady  Brent.  "  It  did 
once  occur  to  me,  after  we'd  been  to  Royd,  to  go  to  a 
Public  Library  and  find  out  who  you  were,  from  a  book. 
But  I  forgot  all  about  it.  I'm  a  thorough  Bohemian 
you  see,  and  more  comfortable  so." 

His  light  tone  did  not  please  her.  "  If  I  had  known 
who  you  were,"  she  said,  "  when  you  came  to  Royd, 
we  should  have  met,  and  I  should  have  known  Viola 
before." 

His  face  changed  as  he  looked  quickly  from  her  to 
Viola.  "  I'm  glad  you've  made  friends  now,"  he  said. 
"  All  the  same,  I  doubt  if  you  would  have  taken  to  her 
two  years  ago.  I've  got  too  far  away  from  what  I 
was  when  you  knew  me." 

"  Well,  it  wouldn't  have  been  you  so  much  that  we 
should  have  thought  about,"  said  Wilbraham. 

Bastian  laughed.  "  You  needn't  worry  about  me 
now,"  he  said  to  Lady  Brent.  "  I'll  own  that  I  have 
had  ideas  of  fighting  you  when  the  time  came.  I  should 


LADY    BRENT   AND    VIOLA     353 

rather  have  enjoyed  it.  I  think  quite  as  highly  of  Viola 
as  you  do  of  your  grandson,  and  I  was  going  to  tell 
you  so.  But — well,  I'm  glad  te  know  there's  no  neces- 
sity. I  think  you've  behaved  well ;  but  I  remember  that 
you  always  had  the  reputation  of  behaving  well.  You'll 
get  some  reward  for  it  in  this  instance,  for  you  know 
without  my  having  to  take  the  trouble  to  prove  it  to 
you  that  Viola's  birth  is  as  good  as  her  manners,  and  as 
for  me  I  shall  not  intrude  upon  you  with  my  debased 
habits  when  I've  once  handed  Viola  over." 

"  I  used  to  like  you  as  a  little  boy,"  said  Lady  Brent, 
calmly.  "  You  were  mischievous  and  perverse,  and 
afterwards  gave  a  great  deal  of  trouble  to  your  parents, 
who  had  not  deserved  it ;  but  I  don't  suppose  your  habits 
are  so  debased  as  you  pretend  they  are.  I  shall  be  very 
glad  if  you  will  bring  Viola  down  to  Royd  when  you 
take  your  holiday,  if  she  cares  to  come.  I  think  Harry 
would  like  to  know  that  she  is  there." 

Then  Viola  accepted  the  invitation,  and  Bastian  did 
not  refuse  it,  though  he  said  that  it  was  many  years 
since  he  had  stayed  in  a  country  house,  and  he  didn't 
think  he  should  remember  the  rules. 

Lady  Brent  told  Wilbraham  about  him  afterwards, 
what  his  family  was  and  where  they  came  from,  which 
was  near  her  own  girlhood's  home.  "  I  must  say  that  I 
am  relieved,"  she  said.  "  On  her  father's  side  her  birth 
to  all  intents  and  purposes  is  as  good  as  Harry's,  and 
on  her  mother's  it  is  no  worse.  It  counts  for  something. 
I  married  before  Michael — that  is  his  real  name,  and  I 
suppose  suggested  the  Angelo  to  his  freakish  imagina- 


354  SIR   HARRY 

tion — before  he  grew  up,  but  I  was  always  hearing 
stories  of  his  wildness  and  extravagance  afterwards. 
There  was  never  much  real  harm  in  him,  and  there  were 
some  very  good  qualities  to  balance  what  harm  there 
was.  His  parents  were  over-strict  with  him,  but  they 
were  fond  of  him,  and  I  think  if  he  hadn't  taken  offence 
at  their  attitude  towards  his  marriage,  in  which  of  course 
they  were  amply  justified,  they  would  have  come  round 
in  time." 

"  It  may  have  been  better  for  him  that  they  didn't," 
said  Wilbraham.  "  He's  had  to  make  his  own  living, 
which  has  probably  been  salutary  for  him,  and  his 
responsibility  to  Viola  has  kept  him  fairly  straight.  I 
wish  he  didn't  drink  quite  so  much  whisky  or  smoke  such 
vile  tobacco,  but  drink  hasn't  taken  hold  of  him  so  much 
as  I  thought  it  had  at  one  time.  If  he  had  been  any- 
thing like  what  you'd  call  a  drunkard  it  would  have 
affected  Viola  more.  What  do  you  think  of  Viola  ?  " 

"  I'm  glad  she  came  to  Royd,  and  that  Harry  met 
her,"  she  said. 


CHAPTER    XXVIII 

IN    THE    BALANCE 

So  far  Harry  had  been  brought  in  his  life's  story. 

The  gods  had  showered  their  gifts  upon  him.  They 
had  given  him  strength  and  beauty ;  a  mind  quick  to 
receive  their  messages  and  eager  to  interpret  them;  a 
heart  that  went  out  to  others  and  drew  others  to  it; 
largesse  of  temporal  favours,  which  they  scatter  here 
and  there  but  are  apt  to  withhold  from  those  whom  they 
endow  with  their  choicest  gifts.  His  manhood  had  been 
tried  in  a  hard  school,  had  been  established  and  wrought 
to  finer  issues  by  it.  He  had  known  great  happiness, 
and  also  suffering  both  of  mind  and  body,  without  which 
happiness  itself  is  but  a  monochrome.  He  had  entered 
the  high  courts  of  love,  and  worshipped  in  them  de- 
voutly. 

For  what  had  they  prepared  him,  on  whom  they  had 
smiled,  not  so  uniformly  as  to  soften  his  fine  fibre,  but 
as  if  they  would  have  cherished  so  rare  an  example  of 
their  handiwork,  and  led  it  towards  still  higher  desert 
of  their  bounties  ?  Would  they  not  watch  over  him  and 
preserve  him  from  the  ultimate  dangers  which  youth 
was  plunging  to  meet  at  this  point  in  the  world's  long 
history?  Or  is  the  world's  history  itself  a  mere  point 

355 


356  SIR   HARRY 

in  time,  as  it  unrolls  itself  before  their  unwearying  eyes, 
so  that  it  matters  not  what  destruction  may  be  wrought 
in  it,  since  there  is  infinity  in  which  to  forge  new  com- 
binations of  flesh  and  brain  and  fortune  ? 

To  the  women  on  the  edge  of  the  vortex  in  which 
manhood  was  fiercely  involved,  but  striving  by  prayers 
and  tears  to  weigh  down  the  balance  of  life  and  death 
in  favour  of  the  men  they  loved,  the  gods  may  well  have 
appeared  contemptuously  indifferent.  The  very  inter- 
ests towards  which  they  had  seemed  to  be  working,  the 
values  they  had  impressed  upon  those  to  whom  they  had 
given  enlightenment  to  understand  them,  what  were  they 
in  the  balance?  It  was  impossible  for  mothers  to  look 
upon  a  life  of  no  more  than  twenty  years  as  rounded 
and  complete,  however  they  might  have  laboured  to  per- 
fect it ;  or  for  young  wives  to  balance  the  bliss  of  early 
married  love  against  a  life-time  of  companionship  and 
the  sweet  joint  care  of  children,  and  cry  quits  on  the 
bargain.  To  them  the  happiness  of  youth  is  an  earnest 
of  still  still  greater  happiness  to  come ;  a  youth  cut  short 
is  a  youth  wasted,  however  it  may  have  fulfilled  itself. 

To  Lady  Brent,  watching  the  news  from  the  battle- 
fields of  the  Somme,  day  after  day,  week  after  weary 
week,  it  seemed  as  if  all  young  life  hung  by  the  balance 
of  a  hair.  She  felt  the  weight  of  it  far  more  than 
during  the  previous  years,  in  which  Harry  had  been  far 
removed,  and  the  details  of  the  fighting  had  not  been 
brought  before  her  with  this  daily  deadly  insistence. 
To  her,  more  than  to  most  whose  hopes  were  dependent 
upon  the  chances  of  battle,  did  youth  appear  as  a  period 


IN    THE    BALANCE  357 

of  preparation  rather  than  of  fruition.  Her  one  steady 
object  during  the  last  twenty  years  had  been  to  work 
with  the  high  gods  so  as  to  fulfil  their  purpose;  and 
she  seemed  to  herself  to  have  been  blest  in  her  strivings 
in  such  a  way  as  to  give  her  the  right  to  believe  that  her 
object  had  also  been  theirs. 

She  had  had  her  grave  doubts,  but  now  the  weight 
of  them  had  been  removed  from  her.  Surely  that  had 
been  because  she  had  not  tarried  to  accept  the  foiling 
of  her  own  plans  where  they  had  not  served  the  great 
purpose !  The  love  that  had  come  to  Harry  was,  on  the 
face  of  it,  just  the  kind  of  love  from  which  she  had 
.most  desired  to  preserve  him.  Now  she  saw  it  as  the 
crown  of  his  happy  youth,  but  still  more  as  the  gift  that 
was  to  bless  his  manhood  to  come.  The  plunging  of  him 
into  crude  and  unfamiliar  life,  which  had  still  lain  on 
his  spirit  at  his  first  homecoming,  and  had  brought  her 
such  trouble  of  mind  on  his  behalf — he  had  come  through 
that  fire.  It  was,  as  Wilbraham  had  said,  the  tempering 
of  the  steel  in  him.  He  would  not  have  been  of  the  fine 
metal  that  he  was  if  he  had  not  felt  its  rigour ;  and, 
having  gone  through  it,  he  would  not  be  what  it  had 
made  of  him  if  his  spirit  were  not  now  freed  from  it. 
Every  letter  that  he  wrote  showed  him  free  and  un- 
troubled in  the  life  he  was  living  and  the  work  he  was 
doing.  He  wrote  happily  and  gaily,  and  as  if  there  was 
not  a  care  on  his  mind.  They  all  seemed  to  take  it  like 
that — the  boys  who  were  out  there,  snapping  their 
fingers  in  the  face  of  Death,  who  was  gibbering  at  them 
from  every  corner  and  trying  to  frighten  them  into 


358  SIRHARRY 

respect  for  his  menace.  Harry  had  never  feared  death, 
and  now  he  no  longer  feared  life  in  any  of  its  unfamiliar 
aspects,  but  embraced  it  with  all  the  ardour  of  his  youth, 
and  with  it  the  happiness  it  had  in  store  for  him  when 
the  great  confusion  should  be  smoothed  out. 

Surely  he  must  be  spared,  for  whom  life  held  so  much ! 
It  could  not  be  squared  with  any  theory  of  directing  and 
guiding  providence  that  one  who  had  been  dowered  with 
the  gifts  of  life  so  much  above  others,  and  was  so  much 
in  accord  with  the  higher  purposes  of  life  as  they  had 
been  slowly  and  sometimes  painfully  revealed  to  her, 
should  be  denied  his  full  inheritance  of  life. 

But  so  much  high  promise  had  been  cut  down  and 
gathered  in  to  the  dreadful  harvest.  Day  after  day 
those  long  lists  came  out.  Names,  names,  columns  and 
pages  long,  and  each  one  of  them  to  some,  perhaps  to 
many,  so  much  more  than  a  name.  She  could  only  wait 
and  tremble  for  the  tilt  of  the  scales.  He  had  been  in 
the  thick  of  it  and  was  untouched  so  far,  though  so 
many  of  those  who  had  been  fighting  around  him  had 
fallen.  A  charmed  life?  By  all  the  theories  to  which 
she  wrested  her  mind  she  ought  to  have  believed  so, 
as  the  weeks  went  by  and  his  letters  came.  But  the 
dread  only  increased. 

She  showed  little  of  it.  Jane  was  her  frequent  com- 
panion, and  though  they  never  spoke  of  the  dread,  each 
divined  much  of  what  the  other  was  thinking. 

Half  child,  half  woman,  Jane  hovered  strangely  be- 
tween fear  and  fatalism.  She  loved  Harry,  but  if  there 
had  been  any  budding  of  a  woman's  love  in  her  it  had 


INTHEBALANCE  359 

been  nipped  by  the  revelation  of  his  love  for  Viola  and 
flowed  again  only  in  the  channels  of  her  childish  devo- 
tion. There  was  something  of  the  woman  in  the  way 
she  regarded  him  in  connection  with  Viola.  One  man 
for  one  woman  to  love  and  cherish.  He  was  hers  when 
he  had  fallen  captive  to  her ;  others  only  had  that  share 
in  him  which  she  might  grant  to  them.  Jane  had  ac- 
cepted Sidney  as  a  possible  mate  for  Harry,  and  now  she 
accepted  Viola,  whom  she  also  loved  since  she  had  come 
to  Royd.  There  was  no  jealousy  in  her.  Harry  loved 
her  as  he  had  always  loved  her;  and  Viola  loved  her. 
She  felt  almost  as  if  she  had  brought  them  together. 

But  in  Jane's  childish  view  the  recognition  of  this 
kind  of  love  was  the  closing  of  youth's  manuscript.  She 
was  uplifted  by  the  idea  of  having  a  pair  of  intimate 
married  friends ;  but  it  would  be  different.  She  did 
not  ask  herself  in  what  way.  It  might  be  even  more 
agreeable  than  having  two  separate  friends,  but  it  would 
be  different.  So  her  view  of  Harry  was  a  backward 
one.  She  talked  chiefly  of  him  as  he  had  been,  and  Lady 
Brent,  somewhat  to  her  comfort,  learnt  to  look  upon 
Harry's  youth  also  as  a  chapter  in  some  sense  closed, 
and  as  a  very  perfect  chapter.  Whatever  might  happen, 
he  had  had  that.  And  she  had  been  instrumental  in 
fashioning  his  youth — a  jewel  to  hang  upon  the  neck  of 
memory,  whole  and  flawless. 

She  would  not  disturb  Jane  with  her  fears,  but  the 
child  divined  them  and  was  often  struck  by  foreboding, 
which  she  resisted  with  all  her  might.  In  this  also  she 
gave  comfort.  Her  optimism,  fitting  to  her  youth  and 


360  SIR   HARRY 

inexperience,  was  insistent,  and  would  not  be  denied. 
Nothing  could  happen  to  Harry  worse  than  what  had 
happened  already.  Nothing — she  seemed  to  frame  her 
creed — could  happen  to  one  who  was  so  loved. 

The  gods  held  the  scales — life  whole  or  life  disabled 
on  the  one  side,  death  on  the  other.  They  dipped  now 
this  way,  now  that.  What  was  it  that  they  threw  into 
them?  Was  there  any  weight  in  the  strong  urgings 
of  those  who  thought  they  had  learnt  from  them  that 
they  would  incline  their  ears  to  such  utterances?  Was 
there  anything  that  might  incline  them  to  spare  one  to 
whom  they  had  shown  their  favours  until  now?  Was 
he  not  nearer  to  them  in  the  tested  quality  of  his  man- 
hood than  the  generality  of  beings  whom  they  sent  to 
represent  their  godhead  on  earth?  Had  they  not  fash- 
ioned him  to  shine  in  years  to  come  as  an  example  of  the 
kind  of  human  stuff  they  could  produce  from  their  work- 
shops? Had  they  no  further  use  for  him  in  a  world 
so  largely  populated  with  their  failures?  Or  were  the 
tokens  they  threw  into  the  scales  nothing  at  all  but 
just  the  chances  of  time  and  space,  so  that  this  man's 
righteousness  and  that  man's  worthlessness  were  of  no 
account  against  the  tick  of  a  watch  or  the  ruled  im- 
mutable path  of  a  shard  of  iron? 

Did  they  even  hesitate?  Was  it  destined  from  the 
beginning  of  time  that  just  at  that  moment  in  a  sodden 
desolate  winter's  dawn,  by  just  that  naked  riven  tree, 
the  life  they  had  given  and  so  richly  endowed  should 
be  battered  out  of  the  young  eager  body  in  which  they; 


INTHEBALANCE  361 

had  set  it,  with  nothing  in  it  left  that  could  any  more 
upon  earth  give  or  receive  love? 

So  it  happened.  The  day  of  blood  dawned,  and  waxed 
and  waned  and  ended.  Many  were  killed  in  it,  many 
lived  to  remember  it  as  no  more  terrible  than  other  days. 
But  Harry  died  in  it.  The  last  boon  they  gave  him 
was  that  he  died  very  quickly. 


CHAPTER    XXIX 


LOVE 


ON  a  February  morning  Viola  walked  through  the  woods 
of  Royd,  along  the  path  by  which  Harry  had  hastened 
to  meet  her  in  those  bright  summer  days  that  were  now 
so  far  off.  Jane  was  with  her.  They  talked  as  they 
walked,  and  sometimes  even  smiled.  No  one  would  have 
guessed  at  the  sorrow  that  lay  like  a  numbing  weight 
upon  one  of  them,  and  had  so  saddened  the  other  that 
she  seemed  in  these  days  to  have  left  most  of  her  child- 
hood behind  her. 

They  talked  of  this  and  that,  but  at  any  moment  they 
might  fall  into  talk  of  Harry.  They  were  never  to- 
gether for  long  without  mention  of  him.  Jane  was  the 
only  person  to  whom  Viola  spoke  of  him  freely.  Lady 
Brent,  who  hid  the  ruin  of  her  life  and  of  her  hopes  as 
best  she  could,  seemed  to  cling  to  her  presence  at  Royd, 
but  they  could  not  talk  together  yet  about  Harry, 
though  his  name  was  not  avoided  between  them.  Mrs. 
Brent  had  been  to  Royd  and  had  gone  away  again.  Her 
visit  had  been  painful  enough  ;  her  sorrow  was  great  and 
her  laments  had  been  ceaseless.  But  jealousy  had  pre- 
vented her  trying  to  get  a  response  from  Viola.  With 
Wilbraham,  whom  she  had  seen  once  since  the  fatal  news 

362 


LOVE  363 

had  come,  she  had  spoken  of  him,  but  then  it  had  been 
as  if  she  hardly  understood  what  had  happened.  Her 
father  had  been  very  kind  to  her,  but  with  no  direct 
effort  to  console  her  for  what  was  beyond  consolation. 
She  had  come  to  Royd  after  a  few  days,  and  had  been 
there  ever  since. 

They  were  talking  of  Sidney  Pawle  as  they  walked 
together  through  the  wood,  to  which  the  leafless  trees 
admitted  gleams  of  winter  sunshine,  so  different  from  the 
splashes  of  vivid  light  that  had  quivered  through  the 
leaves  on  to  the  deep  rich  greenness  of  summer.  Sidney 
had  gone  away  from  Poldaven,  but  Jane  had  heard  from 
her  a  few  days  before,  with  the  news  of  her  engagement, 
now  permitted,  though  grudgingly.  She  had  told  Jane 
that  she  meant  to  be  married  whenever  Noel  could  get 
his  leave,  but  had  not  yet  broken  the  intention  to  her 
parents. 

"  I  am  sure  she  is  right,"  Viola  said.  "  Even  if  he 
gets  killed  afterwards  she  will  have  had  him  all  her  very 
own." 

Jane  hesitated  a  moment  before  she  said,  rather 
brusquely :  "  She  thinks  of  him  as  her  very  own  now." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Viola,  almost  indifferently. 

Jane  stuck  to  her  point.  "  You  had  Harry  all  your 
very  own,"  she  said.  "  There  wasn't  anybody  else.  He 
liked  me  and  Sidney,  but  there  wasn't  really  anybody 
else  but  you."  It  was  by  that  unafraid  directness,  which 
was  part  of  her  nature,  that  she  had  made  her  way  with 
Viola,  where  nobody  else  had  gained  any  access  to  her 
tortured  bewildered  mind.  She  could  say  anything  to 


364  SIRHARRY 

her,  because  there  was  only  truth  and  love  behind  her 
words. 

"  I  know,"  said  Viola.  "  I'm  very  glad  Sidney  is 
going  to  be  happy — as  long  as  it  lasts — but  I  don't 
believe  they  can  possibly  love  each  other  as  much  as 
Harry  and  I  did.  That's  what  makes  it  so  cruel  that 
he  was  killed.  There  was  never  anybody  like  him.  Why 
were  we  allowed  to  know  each  other  and  to  love  each 
other  if  it  was  just  to  be  like  that?  " 

"  That's  what  I  mean,"  said  Jane.  "  You  did  love 
each  other,  and  even  if  you're  awfully  miserable  now 
you'd  rather  be  that  than  never  have  known  Harry." 

"  It  doesn't  seem  to  matter  much  whether  I'm  miser- 
able or  not,"  Viola  said.  "  Everybody  who  has  said 
anything  to  me  about  it  has  seemed  to  think  that's  the 
chief  thing — that  I  shall  get  over  it  in  time.  What  does 
it  matter  whether  I  get  over  it  or  not?  It's  Harry's 
being  killed  that  matters." 

"  I  know,"  said  Jane.  "  Older  people  don't  seem  to 
understand,  though  they  only  mean  to  be  kind.  It's  all 
so  different  to  what  I'd  ever  thought  it  would  be,  if 
anything  like  that  happened  with  somebody  you  loved 
very  much.  There's  part  of  you  goes  on  doing  the  same 
things  almost  as  if  you'd  forgotten,  and  even  perhaps 
enjoying  yourself  sometimes;  and  there's  part  of  you 
that  never  forgets.  Of  course  it  isn't  the  same  for  me 
as  it  is  for  you,"  she  added  on  a  note  of  humility,  "  but 
I  know  enough  to  understand." 

"  Oh,  my  dear,  I  know  how  much  you  loved  Harry. 
It's  what  makes  me  love  you.  I  think  I  love  you  better 


LOVE  365 

than  anybody,  just  because  of  that.  It  all  comes  back 
to  Harry,  you  see.  Poor  Lady  Brent  loved  him,  and 
I'm  desperately  sorry  for  her.  Sometimes  it  seems  as 
if  I'm  more  sorry  for  her  than  I  am  for  myself.  It  isn't 
like  being  sorry  for  oneself.;  I  don't  seem  to  count.  But 
I'm  sorry  for  her.  She's  old,  but  she  isn't  hard,  as 
many  old  people  are.  And  there  are  so  many  other 
things  than  just  Harry  that  she  has  lost." 

"What  sort  of  things?" 

"  Oh,  everything  that  he  was,  or  was  going  to  be — 
everything  she  had  thought  about  and  looked  forward  to 
all  the  time  he  was  growing  up.  I  suppose  they  were  all 
part  of  Harry  to  her;  but  they  weren't  very  much  to 
me.  I  think  I  was  even  a  little  jealous  of  them.  Once 
when  we  were  at  the  log  cabin,  and  talked  about  going 
away  to  a  new  country — you  know,  just  as  you  used  to 
talk,  half  in  fun — I  thought,  oh,  how  I  wish  we  could, 
and  he  would  work  for  me  and  I  would  work  for  him. 
I  wished  he  wasn't  Sir  Harry  Brent  at  all,  with  all  that 
belonged  to  him,  but  just  Harry,  who  only  belonged  to 
me." 

"  Of  course  that  would  have  been  best  of  all.  But 
he  was  Harry  just  the  same,  and  that's  what  matters 
most  to  Lady  Brent." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  know.  But  all  the  rest  does  matter  to 
her,  poor  dear,  and  I  don't  wonder  at  it — for  her. 
Everything  that  meant  so  much  to  her  has  come  to  an 
end.  He  was  the  last  Brent,  and  even  Royd  itself  is 
nothing  to  her  now.  I  should  think  that  was  a  great 
pity  myself,  if  it  were  anybody  else.  I  think  she  would 


366  SIRHARRY 

have  liked  to  talk  about  it  to  me,  after  the  first.  But  I 
just  couldn't.  I  couldn't  now — only  to  you.  You're 
the  only  person  who  really  knows  how  little  it  matters 
—to  me." 

Jane  was  silent.  She  had  heard  that  talk,  and  tried 
to  adjust  her  mind  to  it.  Her  father,  deeply  shocked 
at  Harry's  death,  and  of  some  comfort  to  her  in  his 
exposition  of  the  Christian  faith  in  immortality,  had  yet 
let  his  mind  TUP  upon  some  aspects  of  the  loss  that  had 
seemed  to  her,  in  the  first  outbreak  of  her  grief,  almost 
to  belittle  it.  He  had  talked  about  the  loss  to  Viola, 
not  only  of  Harry,  but  of  what  she  would  have  had  as 
Harry's  wife — even  as  his  widow.  He  had  taken  it  for 
granted  that  some  day  she  would  get  over  her  grief  at 
Harry's  death.  It  was  not  to  be  expected  that  she 
would  think  of  the  material  benefits  that  would  have 
come  to  her,  now ;  but  afterwards  she  would. 

Was  this  so?  Jane  had  talked  to  her  mother,  who 
had  told  her,  striving  hard  to  be  honest  with  her,  that 
few  people  were  altogether  free  from  worldly  desires 
when  they  grew  older,  and  that  the  most  bitter  grief 
was  assuaged  by  time.  Jane  had  listened,  but  held  to 
her  opinion  that  Viola  would  never  get  over  Harry's 
loss,  and  that  nothing  she  had  lost  besides  would  ever 
matter  to  her.  But  she  had  been  a  little  shaken.  Now 
she  felt  that  she  was  justified  in  her  faith  in  Viola.  Not 
even  the  loss  of  all  that  saddened  others  who  also  loved 
Harry,  but  not  as  she  did,  mattered  to  her;  the  loss  of 
those  things  to  herself  she  did  not  think  about,  nor  ever 
would. 


LOVE  367 

They  had  come  a  long  way  through  the  ride.  "  I'm 
going  to  take  you  to  a  place  I  haven't  been  to  since 
Harry  died,"  Viola  said,  as  she  turned  to  a  faintly 
defined  track  through  the  wood.  "  I've  wanted  to  go, 
but  I  couldn't  by  myself." 

She  spoke  without  more  emotion  than  had  marked 
her  speech  hitherto,  and  as  they  threaded  their  way 
through  the  trees,  which  grew  closely  here,  she  told  Jane 
how  Harry  had  led  her  to  the  woodland  pool  on  the 
morning  after  they  had  first  met,  and  how  they  had 
spent  long  summer  hours  in  that  green  retreat,  happy 
in  their  love. 

Jane  felt  that  she  was  going  to  a  holy  place.  Harry 
had  never  mentioned  this  secret  pool  to  her,  though  he 
had  shown  her  many  secrets  of  the  woods. 

The  hardly  discernible  path  by  which  they  had  turned 
aside  was  soon  lost  in  the  tangle  of  undergrowth.  Viola 
told  her  that  they  had  never  gone  to  the  pool  by  the 
same  way,  so  as  not  to  leave  a  track ;  but  she  went  on 
unhesitatingly,  "  I  think  I  could  find  my  way  to  it 
blindfold,"  she  said. 

Presently  they  came  to  the  pool.  Viola  caught  her 
breath  and  gave  a  little  shiver  as  she  stood  on  its  brink. 
The  sun  had  gone  behind  the  clouds,  and  the  waters  were 
cold  and  steely,  but  there  was  no  wind,  and  they  reflected 
as  in  a  mirror  the  bare  trees,  which  had  once  been 
arrassed  with  their  leafy  tapestry,  to  close  in  this  hidden 
temple.  "  It's  not  the  same,"  she  said.  "  It  isn't  secret 
any  more.  I  wish  I  hadn't  come." 

She  turned,  and  there  was  the  great  tree,  with  the 


368  SIR   HARRY 

jutting  roots  under  its  spreading  canopy  upon  which 
she  had  sat  as  a  queen  crowned  by  Harry's  adoring  love. 
She  seemed  to  recoil,  and  gave  a  cry  which  echoed  for- 
lornly through  the  naked  woods.  Then  she  sank  on  to 
the  ground  beside  the  mossed  roots  crying,  "  Oh,  Harry ! 
My  darling!  Oh,  my  darling!  " 

The  suddenness  of  it  had  brought  Jane's  heart  to  her 
mouth.  Viola  was  sobbing  as  if  her  heart  would  break. 
It  was  the  first  time  Jane  had  seen  her  abandon  herself 
to  her  despairing  grief.  Her  own  love  and  sorrow 
welled  up  in  her.  She  knelt  beside  Viola,  embracing  her 
as  she  lay  there,  and  mingling  her  tears  with  hers,  but 
not  speaking. 

For  a  long  time  both  of  them  wept  together.  Viola's 
sobs  decreased  in  violence,  but  she  cried  piteously  and 
forlornly.  "  Oh,  Harry,  I  do  want  you  so,"  she  sobbed. 
"  Why  have  you  gone  away  from  me  ?  " 

Jane  rose  to  her  knees.  Viola,  still  lying  against  the 
roots,  with  her  head  buried  on  her  arm,  caught  her  hand 
and  held  it.  The  pressure  thrilled  Jane  through  and 
through.  She  could  console,  in  this  unconsolable  grief. 
She  felt  as  if  it  were  a  trust  from  Harry  to  do  so. 
Viola  was  not  quite  alone  in  the  world,  if  she  could  still 
cling  to  her  in  her  bitter  trouble.  She  bent  down  again 
and  kissed  her,  and  Viola's  arms  went  round  her  neck. 
"Don't  cry  any  more,"  she  said  through  her  own  fall- 
ing tears.  "  Harry  hasn't  left  you.  He's  alive  and 
happy.  Perhaps  he's  looking  at  us  now.  He  loves  you 
as  much  as  you  love  him." 

Viola's  sobs  ceased  for  the  moment.     "  He  did,"  she 


LOVE  369 

said.  "Oh,  if  I  knew  he  loved  me  still  I  could  bear 
never  seeing  him  any  more.  But  he's  dead.  They  killed 
Harry,  Jane.  Can  you  believe  it  ?  My  darling  Harry ! 
He  kissed  me  here  when  he  was  alive  and  we  talked  and 
talked  such  a  little  time  ago.  I  can  hear  him  now  this 
very  minute  and  feel  him  by  me.  But  he  is  dead.  I  must 
keep  on  saying  it  or  I  can't  believe  it.  Harry  is  dead." 

Her  sobs  broke  out  afresh.  Jane  rose  to  her  feet. 
"  No,"  she  said,  with  a  solemn  look  on  her  child's  face. 
"  Harry  isn't  dead.  He  won't  like  to  see  you  giving 
way  like  that.  Just  for  a  time  you  can't  help  it,  I 
know ;  but  you've  cried  enough.  Get  up  now,  Viola,  and 
let's  talk  about  Harry." 

Viola  arose  obediently,  and  dried  her  eyes.  "  I've 
always  tried  to  be  brave,"  she  said,  "  because  I  knew 
Harry  would  like  it.  He  wouldn't  have  gone  away  from 
me  if  he  could  have  helped  it.  I'm  sorry  I  said  what  I 
did  just  now,  but  it  was  too  much  for  me  seeing  this 
place.  I  shan't  come  here  again.  Let's  go  away." 

Jane  hesitated.  "  Wouldn't  you  rather  stay,  and 
talk  about  him  here?"  she  said.  "It  brought  him  more 
back  to  you  to  come  here.  It  was  too  much  for  you  at 
first ;  but  now  you've  got  over  that " 

Viola  stood  and  looked  about  her.  Her  cheeks  were 
wet  with  her  tears,  and  at  intervals  a  tremor  passed 
through  her  body ;  but  she  was  not  weeping  now,  and 
the  quieter  look  was  returning  to  her  face. 

"  It  is  the  same  place,  after  all,"  she  said,  as  if  slowly 
recognizing  it.  "  But  it's  bare — like  my  heart  is.  I 
used  to  think  it  welcomed  us  when  we  came  here,  it  was 


370  SIRHARRY 

so  quiet  and  beautiful.  It's  beautiful  now,  though. 
Harry  would  have  loved  it  like  this.  Yes,  we'll  stay 
here  a  little,  Jane  dear.  Look,  this  is  just  where  I  used 
to  sit,  and  Harry  would  always  lie  on  the  grass.  In 
other  places  he  used  to  sit  by  me,  but  here  he  said  I 
was  a  queen,  and  he  must  be  at  my  feet.  Come  and  sit 
by  me  on  my  poor  throne,  Jane,  and  we'll  talk  about 
him." 

They  sat  side  by  side.  Jane  nestled  to  her  with  her 
arm  around  her  waist,  and  for  a  time  they  said  nothing. 
The  sunlight  fell  upon  them,  filtering  through  the  inter- 
laced branches,  as  they  sat  still  in  a  contact  which  was 
a  solace  to  both  of  them.  Grief  does  not  set  abiding 
marks  upon  the  young.  But  for  the  traces  of  her  tears 
Viola  was  as  fresh  and  fair  as  when  she  had  sat  there  for 
Harry  to  worship  her.  It  was  only  in  her  tender  reliant 
heart  that  the  wound  was  quivering  and  throbbing.  She 
was  widowed  of  her  love,  though  she  had  never  been  wed. 
There  was  no  one  who  could  comfort  her,  except  the  still 
younger  girl  who  shared  her  love  and  her  grief,  and  was 
nestling  to  her. 

The  silence  of  the  woods  lay  all  about  them,  but  it  was 
not  the  iron  silence  of  deep  winter.  There  was  a  sense 
of  reviving  life  in  the  February  sunshine,  and  the  hazy 
purple  of  the  already  swelling  leaf-buds. 

Viola  bent  over  Jane  and  kissed  her.  "  You  do  com- 
fort me,  dear,"  she  said.  "  I  thought  nothing  could  ever 
comfort  me  again,  but  you  do.  You  loved  my  darling 
Harry." 

Jane   buried  her   face   on   Viola's   breast   and   cried 


LOVE  371 

softly,  and  Viola's  tears  came  again,  but  not  with  the 
abandonment  she  had  lately  shown.  They  were  healing 
tears  of  love  and  sympathy. 

Jane  dried  her  eyes,  still  leaning  against  Viola,  and 
said :  "  I'm  very  glad  you  brought  me  here.  Now  I 
know.  Now  I  know  for  certain." 

"  What  do  you  know,  dear?  "  Viola  asked  her  gently. 
She  felt  the  stirrings  of  love  in  her  towards  this  child, 
so  loyal  and  so  steel-true.  Her  quiet  tears,  leaning  on 
her  breast,  had  brought  out  the  child  in  her.  She  had 
been  dreadfully  hurt  too,  and  needed  for  herself  the 
consolation  that  she  had  only  thought  of  giving,  with 
a  strength  and  wisdom  beyond  her  years.  Viola  kissed 
her  again  as  she  asked  her  question. 

"  I  know  that  Harry  is  alive,"  said  Jane,  sitting  up- 
right and  looking  out  across  the  waters  of  the  pool, 
upon  which  there  was  not  a  tremor.  It  was  as  if  it 
had  hushed  itself  to  listen.  "  This  place  seems  to  be  full 
of  him.  I  know  why.  It's  because  of  the  love  that  it 
holds.  Love  can't  die ;  it's  there  for  always.  Harry 
loves  you  just  as  much  as  he  did  when  you  came  here 
together.  I  believe  he  loves  me  too,  just  as  he  used 
to  when  I  was  little.  Once  he  sent  me  a  message,  before 
anybody,  because  we  were  friends.  Now  I  believe  he's 
sending  me  a  message  again.  He  loves  you.  Yes,  he 
does.  It  isn't  that  he  did  love  you,  and  then  he  died 
and  you've  only  got  that  to  remember.  He  loves  you 
now,  and  he'll  never  leave  off  loving  you,  till  you  see  him 
again,  and  are  happy  together  as  you  used  to  be." 

Viola's  eyes  had  been  fixed  on  her,  as  if  fascinated. 


372  SIRHARRY 

Her  utterance  was  almost  prophetic  in  its  rapt  inten- 
sity. When  she  had  spoken  she  nestled  to  Viola  again, 
and  said  in  a  softer  tone :  "  It  makes  me  almost  happy 
now,  believing  that.  Don't  you  feel  that  it's  true?  " 

"  Do  you  really  believe  we  shall  meet  again  some 
day  ?  "  Viola  asked.  "  If  you'd  asked  me — before — I 
should  have  said  I  believed  that.  But  it  hasn't  given 
me  any  comfort,  up  till  now.  I  suppose  I  didn't  really 
believe  it,  as  I  used  to  believe  I  should  meet  him  again 
the  next  day  here.  If  I  could  only  know  it !  " 

"  But  don't  you  feel  that  Harry's  alive?  "  said  Jane. 
"  I  do.  If  you  can't  feel  it  yet  it's  only  because  you've 
been  so  sad  and  so  puzzled  that  you  haven't  known. 
But  if  I  can  feel  it  you  will  be  able  to  more  still,  because 
Harry  loved  you  so  much.  I  think  he  wants  you  to  feel 
it  now." 

It  was  Viola's  turn  now  to  look  out  across  the  water. 
"  It  would  be  like  Harry,"  she  said,  slowly.  "  Oh,  Jane, 
if  it's  only  true !  " 

She  put  her  hand  to  her  breast,  and  a  smile  broke  out 
upon  her  face — such  a  smile  as  had  not  lightened  it 
these  many  days. 

"  Of  course  it's  true,"  said  Jane,  in  her  decisive  way. 
"  It's  part  of  our  religion.  We  say  every  Sunday  in 
church :  '  I  believe  in  the  resurrection  of  the  dead,  and 
the  life  of  the  world  to  come.' ' 

"  Ah,  but  that's  not  the  same.  I  want  to  think  of 
Harry  as  alive  now.  It  seemed  to  come  to  me  just 
now  that  he  really  is — like  the  sun  breaking  through  the 
clouds.  If  that's  true,  Jane  dear — if  that's  true,  that 


LOVE  373 

my  darling  Harry  is  alive  now  somewhere,  just  like  he 
used  to  be,  and  loving  me  all  the  time,  and  I  only  have 
to  wait  for  a  little  before  I  see  him  again 

"  You  won't  even  have  to  wait,"  said  Jane,  "  if  you 
know  he's  loving  you,  and  you  can  go  on  loving  him 
because  he's  alive,  and  not  only  remember  what  he  was 
when  he  was  here." 

"  No.  It  will  only  be  like  what  it  was  when  he  went 
away  before.  My  heart  was  going  out  to  him  always, 
and  when  he  came  back  all  the  parting  was  forgotten, 
and  it  was  sweeter  than  if  we  hadn't  parted.  Oh,  Jane, 
fancy  seeing  Harry  just  like  he  used  to  be,  beautiful  and 
laughing  and  happy !  Do  you  think  it's  possible  that  it 
can  be  really  like  that — that  he's  somewhere  now — not 
lying  out  there  in  France,  but  just  as  he  was  when  we 
loved  each  other  so  much?  Tell  me  you  really  believe 
it,  and  are  not  saying  it  only  to  comfort  me." 

Jane  clung  to  her  again.  "  I'm  sure  of  it,"  she  said. 
"  It's  Harry's  message.  You  don't  mind  it  coming 
through  me,  do  you?  It's  a  message  to  you;  he  wants 
me  to  give  it  you.  It's  not  in  words,  as  if  he  were 
speaking.  It's  all  through  me.  Harry  wants  your  love 
just  as  much  now  as  ever  he  did,  and  he  loves  you  just 
as  much  too." 

Viola  sat  silent,  with  a  tender  look  in  her  eyes,  and  a 
smile  upon  her  lips.  Presently  she  said :  "  Harry  once 
saw  something,  not  belonging  to  the  world  which  every- 
body can  see,  and  when  he  told  me  I  knew  at  once  why 
he  had  seen  it,  because  there  had  never  been  anything  in 
the  way  with  him.  There  never  has  been.  You  could 


374  SIR   HARRY 

look  deep,  deep,  deep  into  him,  and  never  find  anything 
there  that  wasn't  beautiful  and  true.  I  wonder  if  there's 
another  place  where  people  like  that  really  belong — no, 
not  a  place,  but  something  they  belong  to  all  the  time 
they're  in  the  world,  and  that  goes  on  just  the  same  for 
them  when  they  have  left  the  world.  I  think  there  must 
be,  Jane,  and  that's  how  it  is  with  Harry.  That  would 
make  him  here,  with  us,  wouldn't  it?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Jane,  softly.  "  That's  what  I  feel  about 
it.  It's  all  love.  I  can't  explain  exactly,  but  when  he 
was  here  with  his  body  there  was  something  else  more 
important  still,  and  just  as  real.  It's  love  that  is  real 
— like  a  person.  Can  you  understand  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  think  I  can,  and  it's  what  I  meant,  too,  that 
is  so  comforting.  What  I  loved  most  in  him  when  he 
was  here  is  just  what  he  is  still,  and  I  can  go  on  loving 
it,  because  it  didn't  die  when  he  was  killed.  I  wonder  if 
he  thought  that  too.  I  couldn't  bear  to  think  of  him 
being  killed,  so  he  never  talked  about  it." 

"  Wasn't  that  because  he  thought  it  didn't  really 
matter?  " 

"  Oh,  how  it  matters  to  me !  But  perhaps  God  took 
him  so  that  he  should  never  be  spoilt,  not  the  least  little 
bit.  Oh,  but  I  would  have  tried  so  hard  to  be  worthy  of 
him,  if  only  he'd  been  left  to  me,  just  for  a  little  little 
time  longer.  He  said  I  helped  him.  I  believe  I  did, 
when  he  was  unhappy — because  the  world  wasn't  like  it 
had  been  to  him  here,  and  I  knew  more  about  the  world 
than  he  did,  poor  darling !  " 

"  It's  very  hard  indeed,  and  you  can't  quite  under- 


LOVE  375 


stand  it  all.  But  when  you  say  to  yourself,  it's  all 
it  seems  somehow  to  put  it  more  right.  And  the  text 
says,  God  is  love,  so  that  would  come  in  too,  though  I 
don't  quite  know  how  till  I  think  about  it  more.  But 
what  I'm  quite  certain  of  is  that  Harry  couldn't  have 
been  wasted.  I  think  that's  what  poor  Lady  Brent  can't 
see.  All  of  him  that  we  loved  is  alive  somewhere.  I'm 
more  and  more  sure  of  that  every  moment.  I  believe 
it's  what  Harry  is  trying  to  say  to  us.  Let's  just  say 
we  believe  it,  Viola  dear.  Perhaps  it  will  even  make  him 
more  happy  if  we  do.  I  believe  it.  I  believe  Harry 
is  alive  and  that  he  knows  about  us,  and  some  day  you 
will  see  him  again,  and  you  will  be  happier  together 
than  you  have  ever  been.  Say  it,  Viola." 

"  The  last  letter  Harry  wrote  to  me,"  said  Viola, 
musingly,  "  he  said  he  should  love  me  always,  always, 
always.  Do  you  think  he  meant  what  we've  been  saying, 
Jane,  though  he  wouldn't  write  about  being  killed?  " 

"  I  expect  he  did.  I'm  sure  he  must  have  believed  it, 
and  I'm  sure  he  wants  you  to  believe  it  now.  Say  it, 
Viola.  Say  you  believe  it." 

Viola  rose  and  stood  before  her.  A  smile  was  on  her 
lips,  and  there  was  a  light  in  her  eyes.  "  I  do  believe 
it,"  she  said,  "  and  it  will  make  everything  different  to 
nie  all  through  my  life.  Harry  will  be  with  me  always.'5' 

She  turned  and  stood,  looking  up  to  the  clear  space 
of  sky  above  the  pool.  "  Oh,  Harry,  my  darling,"  she 
said  very  softly,  and  tenderly,  "  can  you  hear  me  —  your 
own  Viola,  who  loves  you  so?  I  do  love  you,  darling. 
now  and  for  ever." 


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